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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062061">The Kingdom's Rise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares8/pseuds/Antares8'>Antares8</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Albion Cycle [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Good Red Boi, Magic Revealed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:56:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares8/pseuds/Antares8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With Uther Pendragon dead, Arthur can finally begin the work of freeing magic. But it's a long road to freedom, and he has powerful enemies plotting in the shadows. Good thing he's got powerful allies, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Balinor/Hunith (Merlin), Gwen &amp; Merlin &amp; Morgana &amp; Arthur Pendragon, Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Albion Cycle [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1056494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>520</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The First Decree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Uther Pendragon is dead. The world reacts.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter I: The First Decree</p>
<p>The young man knelt on the ground, one hand pressed against the barren dirt, the other clutching at his belly. He breathed deeply, letting the power flow through him, into the land. His fingers tightened against his shirt and at the bandages underneath.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, they were bright, brilliant gold, a shade that no human had ever borne, at least not permanently. They were physical proof of his long-prophesied identity, the mark of the most powerful warlock to ever live, and they were full of exhaustion. For in that land of myth and time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of that young man. His name… <em>Merlin</em>.</p>
<p>As far as his energy levels went, it was a middling day. He tired too easily, magic draining from him into the kingdom to which he was bonded, but he could focus and do most of his usual magic, albeit with less stamina. On good days, he was almost his old self, save for the new stab wound that flatly refused to heal. On Bad Days, though… suffice to say that he was very, very glad that they didn't occur very often.</p>
<p>"I think that's enough for today, Basu," the warlock rasped. He stood slowly, dizzily, spots swimming across his view. "You know, we're almost finished here. By the end of tomorrow, this place might actually be habitable."</p>
<p>His companion, a great red wyvern with only three legs, looked at him dubiously. Merlin huffed. "Okay, fine, two days." He'd promised his mother that he wouldn't work himself to the point of collapse, and he had every intention of keeping that promise. When he'd first taken up the Fisher King's mantle, he'd been unconscious for days and perpetually exhausted for well over a week after his awakening. In other words, a week full of Bad Days. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.</p>
<p>"<em>All</em> the water in the city is drinkable, at least," the warlock continued. He gestured at a half-ruined well, one of the many in Listeniese's long-abandoned capital. "Speaking of which, I ought to get you some water before we leave." He strode over to the well, a bit more slowly than usual, and dropped the bucket down. Unlike the well, the bucket was new. They'd brought it so that Basu wouldn't get thirsty. Summer's heat was beginning to fade now that the equinox was fast approaching, but a creature of his size needed quite a bit of water.</p>
<p>Basu gulped down his drink, looked expectantly at his master. Merlin lowered the bucket again, drawing up more liquid. The wyvern drank only a few mouthfuls this time.</p>
<p>"I'm going to check on Arthur," Merlin announced. "No, Wyrmbasu, don't look at me like that. I have more than enough energy to look in on him for a few seconds." That was all he'd need to reassure himself that of course the prince was fine, he was in the heart of his kingdom surrounded by people loyal to him. Yes, he had scheduled a coup for today, but he'd been careful to acquire the full support of Uther's council, and it wasn't like the mad king presented a preferable alternative. Arthur was fine. The nasty feeling in Merlin's stomach was just that damn stab wound bothering him again, not any real indication that his friend was in trouble.</p>
<p>Then he actually cast the scrying spell.</p>
<p>Arthur knelt in a crimson puddle with his father's body at its center. The prince's—no, he wasn't a <em>prince</em> anymore—face was numb with shock and grief and a little bit of disbelief.</p>
<p>"The king is dead," proclaimed a familiar voice. Lord Leodegrance, who had been hosting the royal family while their castle was being repaired. "Long live the king!"</p>
<p>"Long live the king," Merlin echoed, staring at his friend's stricken visage.</p>
<p>The Butcher King who had hunted and persecuted and murdered his people for twenty-one long years was dead. He would never again have children thrown in wells or their parents burnt alive. He would never hurt another spellbinder, and so Merlin could not mourn his passage. Indeed, a small, vicious coil of satisfaction curled in his gut, because that man had hurt him and his family, and Merlin's baby sister had to spend the next twenty-seven days (he was counting) in Avalon because Uther had nearly killed her in the womb.</p>
<p>The Butcher King was dead, and for that Merlin was glad.</p>
<p>But Arthur had lost his father, and so Merlin felt the unwelcome pangs of sorrow, too. Arthur looked so utterly heartbroken, kneeling there in his father's blood.</p>
<p>Merlin sighed heavily as he let the image disperse. "Uther Pendragon is dead," he stated. The words sounded unreal in his own ears. He'd feared the King of Camelot since he learned what fear was. He'd spent every day of his life—<em>every single day</em>—in the long dark shadow of the Purge. Intellectually, he'd known that the man wasn't immortal. Hell, he'd known that Uther was likely to die within the next few months. He'd prophesied it himself. But actually saying that the king was dead felt like stepping out of his old home in Ealdor and suddenly realizing that the mountains <em>just weren't there</em> anymore.</p>
<p>Basu's chirp drew the warlock out of his reverie. Merlin startled slightly, swaying a bit before regaining his balance. He'd scried for longer than he'd intended, which had used more energy than he'd wanted to expend. He caught himself against the wyvern's side with a murmur of gratitude, then climbed astride. Basu unfurled his great wings and then they were off.</p>
<p>As the Perilous Lands blurred below him, Merlin found himself wondering if they could perhaps stop by Camelot's capital before returning to the camp in Gedref. Every fiber of his being demanded that he go to Arthur. What if the killer who'd struck down his father attacked again? But instinct and reason agreed that the assassin had had only one target, and <em>Arthur</em> wasn't the one who'd instigated another kingdom-wide murderous rampage.</p>
<p>Besides, if he tried to teleport to his friend's side, Merlin would pass out. He'd poured too much into Listeneise.</p>
<p>But he could, theoretically, guide Basu towards the city rather than the Labyrinth. It would take longer, of course, but they could do it. Except Merlin rather doubted that the guards were letting Arthur out of their collective sight any time soon, and he doubted that the prince—king—would appreciate his friend trouncing his protectors just to talk with him.</p>
<p>(Although, if he used thought-speech…. No, no, Arthur would need to focus. Merlin couldn't go around distracting him, especially when he had no idea what he would even do once he got to Camelot. Just being there wouldn't be enough if his presence took away everyone else.)</p>
<p>Arthur had people. If Merlin went to him, he'd only get in the way. Besides, he had other duties.</p>
<p>His own people needed to know.</p>
<p>So when he arrived back at Gedref (he'd fallen asleep for a time on Basu's back, <em>again</em>. Thankfully the wyvern was a remarkably steady flier or he'd probably have fallen to his death several times over), he mustered up his magical reserves to ensure that his thought-speech was heard by every man, woman, and child in their camp.</p>
<p>"<em>I have news</em>," he called silently. "<em>While scrying the Once and Future King, I saw his father lying in a pool of blood, his throat pierced by an arrow. Uther Pendragon is dead. We will hold a meeting in half an hour at the northmost coastal exit.</em>" It occurred to him after the message went out that he might not have the authority to call an assemblage like that (he was <em>not</em> magical royalty, just considered rather important in their culture), but it was too late. He'd kicked the hornet's nest, so now he had to deal with the swarm.</p>
<p>Sure enough, he could barely walk five steps without someone materializing out of the bushes with a thousand questions: Who killed him? Was <em>their</em> king in danger? Had he legalized magic yet? How soon could he set them free? And the one question that everyone asked, often multiple times: Is it <em>true</em>?</p>
<p>Merlin gave the same answer to every inquiry: I'll make everything clear at the meeting.</p>
<p>By the time he arrived at the meeting place, he'd attracted quite a following.</p>
<p>The people he really wanted to speak with were already there: his mother and father, Gwen and Morgana. And Gaius, paler than usual, face tight with a grief that he could not show. Come to think of it, the physician wasn't the only person who looked stricken. Balinor's jaw was tight. He had known Uther years and years ago, had fought to take his throne back from Vortigern, though decades of betrayal and genocide had understandably destroyed his affection long ago. And then there was Morgana, who had been raised by Uther, who had discovered mere weeks ago that he was her father by blood.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" Merlin asked softly.</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't I be?" Morgana demanded. Her nostrils flared. "He was evil. He did so much evil, to so many people. He hurt everyone here and killed the two hundred seventy-three people who aren't here—and they're just his latest victims. He—" But here her voice broke. "He shouldn't mean anything."</p>
<p>Merlin took her hand in his. "I'm sorry that this is hurting you."</p>
<p>"It <em>shouldn't</em>."</p>
<p>"There's a lot of things that shouldn't be," the warlock sighed.</p>
<p>"Is Arthur all right?" Gwen asked quietly. She wasn't just asking about his physical wellbeing.</p>
<p>"When I saw him last, he was holding himself together," Merlin assured her. "I almost went to him then and there, but he was surrounded by people who would have killed me on sight, and I didn't think he'd appreciate me fighting them all just for a bit of comfort." He grimaced. "And if it was a spellbinder who shot Uther, he might not want to see me."</p>
<p>"I doubt that," Gwen replied. She bit her lip, then forged on. "He might need to see all of us, sooner rather than later. He needs someone to be there for <em>him</em>."</p>
<p>"The crown is a heavy burden," Gaius murmured. "Its weight has crushed so many men."</p>
<p>"It will not crush Arthur," said Gwen, all calm assurance.</p>
<p>"<em>It will not crush you, either</em>," Merlin added in private thought-speech. He would have said it out loud, but her father Tom had just arrived and he didn't know if the blacksmith knew about Gwen and Arthur. He kept forgetting to ask.</p>
<p>Gwen smiled back at him.</p>
<p>The half-hour was almost over, so Merlin climbed up a rock on the shoreline to address the assembly. He told them about his impromptu decision to scry Arthur, the scene he'd witnessed, the fact that Uther Pendragon was dead. (Maybe, if he said those words enough, they would start to feel real.)</p>
<p>An excited ripple ran through the crowd, joy and triumph and relief and hope. They had never known Uther the man, just stories of a distant monster who wanted them all dead, who had ruined their lives, driven them from their homes, and ordained the deaths of their kin. Most of them were completely, unequivocally glad that his reign of terror was over.</p>
<p>Merlin let them talk among themselves for a few moments before he lifted his hand for silence. Quiet was slow in coming, but at last he could address his people again.</p>
<p>"Many of you asked me if this means that we are completely and totally free. As much as I wish I could say we were, I must instead ask you to exercise caution." The crowd was muttering again, not nearly as happily as before, but the warlock forged on. "Arthur Pendragon <em>will</em> end the Slaughter. He will stop the persecution of our people. But as much as we all wish otherwise, he cannot do this in the space of a few hours. He'll have to unmake dozens of laws and treaties, all while opposed by three-quarters of his nobility and a fair portion of the populace, not to mention Sarrum of Amata." The crowd hissed. "We need to remain patient just a little while longer so that Arthur can free us without inciting a civil war."</p>
<p>"I would fight for him!" someone cried, interrupting Merlin's explanations.</p>
<p>"And I!" vowed another voice. Soon half the audience was shouting their allegiance to the Once and Future King, promising to fight for him and their freedom.</p>
<p>Merlin had to wait far too long to address them again. "I would fight for him too!" he shouted. "I <em>have</em> fought for him! But our king has a responsibility to <em>all</em> his people, not just us. He needs to walk the path of peace. And that's better for us, too! In the long term, we'll be safer if we don't win our safety with bloodshed and violence because the people won't see us as intrusive conquerors. I know it's hard to wait when everything we want is so close, but acting too outrageously will only cause him and us problems. Remember tomorrow, not just today. Give Arthur time so that he can grant us our liberty."</p>
<p>"How much time?"</p>
<p>Dammit. He'd been hoping that no one would ask that.</p>
<p>It took far too much effort to keep his face blank when he responded. "I have barely been in communication with Arthur since we arrived in Gedref. I don't know the timeline of his plans, or what sorts of things people will do to oppose him. All I know is that he will legalize magic as soon as he possibly can."</p>
<p>The crowd's mutters had a distinctly dissatisfied tone. Merlin thought back to Morgana and Gwen's stories of riots and fought back a wince. He didn't think that his people would do anything of the sort, but it was still better to nip this frustration in the bud.</p>
<p>So he shouted, "But no matter the exact timeline, the end is in sight! Uther Pendragon is dead. His renewal of the Slaughter will peter out as soon as the people of Camelot learn that Arthur, who was thrown into the dungeons for opposing his father's massacres, is now the king. The word is already spreading. Even now, mere hours after Uther's death, we are safer than we've been in twenty-one long, horrible years."</p>
<p>It seemed to be working. The quiet backdrop of voices wasn't unhappy anymore. In fact, a joy was building in the audience, increasing their volume, animating their every gesture, lighting their faces. Some of the glee was malicious, yes, but there were those whose happiness had less to do with Uther's death than with Arthur's ascent.</p>
<p><em>Their</em> king was on the throne, and the first glimmers of dawn brightened the horizon.</p>
<p>A few pockets of laughter bubbled up. The pallor of disbelieving shock was thinning as the news sank in.</p>
<p>They weren't completely free, not yet, but… it was the beginning of the end.</p><hr/>
<p>Arthur stared at the corpse of the man who had shot his father in mute grief, a whirl of emotions storming beneath his collarbone. He looked so ordinary: sun-weathered face, brown hair tinted gray, lines of joy and sorrow by his mouth. They might have passed each other on the streets without Arthur noticing him.</p>
<p>But this man had killed a king with a single well-aimed shot, then run himself through before the guards could bring him to justice.</p>
<p>In a numb sort of way, Arthur was glad for the man's suicide. This way, he wouldn't have to execute him. Wouldn't have to put him on trial, to hear the horrible details of whatever awful thing Uther had done that had provoked his attack. For he had no doubt that his father <em>had</em> provoked it. This man, this citizen-turned-assassin, had almost certainly lost at least one loved one to the renewed Purge. He might have lost his entire family.</p>
<p>(Maybe he'd been on the Isle of the Blessed, seen his loved ones choke and collapse, hidden himself from the soldiers hunting his kin like animals.)</p>
<p>Arthur thought of Edwin Muirden's scarred face, of red spirals and the way that vengeance begat vengeance. Yes. He was grateful that this man, this <em>unidentified</em> man, had taken his own life, however shameful that gratitude might be.</p>
<p>"Has the body been searched for signs of sorcery?" Sarrum demanded. It was literally the first thing out of his mouth now that the guards had brought in the cadaver.</p>
<p>"We wanted Pr—King Arthur to see immediately that the assassin was dead."</p>
<p>King Arthur. Gods. That was his title now.</p>
<p>(Oh, gods, he wasn't ready for this, what had he been <em>thinking</em> with his planned usurpation, he had no damn idea what he was supposed to do—)</p>
<p>"I see him," the new king said softly, dully. "You did the right thing. Tell me, did he have any last words?"</p>
<p>"No, sire," the guards' spokesman replied. "He was already dead when we arrived." A moment's hesitation, then, "What would you have us do with the body?"</p>
<p>A distraction. Something to focus on other than the second corpse, the one even now being cleaned to lie in state. Good. He needed that.</p>
<p>"Have him searched for any sign of his identity. A birthmark, a tattoo, anything of the sort. Have his description circulated among the populace with the assurance that no one will be punished for stepping forth to claim him. They will be questioned, yes, but not as suspected accomplices."</p>
<p>"You think he acted alone?" Cenred asked.</p>
<p>Arthur gave a very un-regal shrug. "I see no reason that this scheme would require co-conspirators." Another thought struck. He turned back to the guards. "Have the building searched, too. It was an inn, correct? Speak to the innkeeper, the patrons—but remember that they are innocent witnesses until proven otherwise, <em>not</em> suspects." In a perfect world, he wouldn't have had to specify that last bit.</p>
<p>In the world his father had helped create, he did.</p>
<p>Anger surged sudden and hot, but not at the killer. At his father. Arthur wanted to yell at him, to tear him apart for being so damned stubborn and vicious that some random nobody had died to kill him and that this assassin would probably be hailed and remembered as a hero for putting down the mad Butcher King of Camelot, and this wouldn't have happened if Uther had just <em>listened</em> or <em>stopped</em> or if Arthur had <em>made</em> him listen, <em>made</em> him stop, kept him safer….</p>
<p>His breath caught, and it was becoming very difficult to hold back his tears.</p>
<p>Somehow, Arthur maintained his composure.</p>
<p>"Your Majesty." Ugh. Sarrum was talking again. Why couldn't he just shut up and go away? Cenred too, and all these stupid guards, and Lord Leodegrance, who hadn't actually said much since he'd declared Arthur king but whose presence nonetheless stung like salt on an open wound. "I brought but a small honor guard, but my men will gladly assist you on your quest for vengeance against the sorcerers who murdered your father."</p>
<p>Arthur stared at him blankly. "What makes you think he was a spellbinder?"</p>
<p>"Who else would hate your royal father enough to murder him?"</p>
<p>"Anyone whose friends and family he struck down for no damn reason." He frowned. "Speaking of. Where are the scribes? Someone, bring me to the scribes." He turned back to the kings—the other kings—and inclined his head. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesties. I should give you time to fully move into this castle. Please, take the rest of this day to make yourselves comfortable." Back to the slightly alarmed guards. "Now, the scribes."</p>
<p>They did not try to make conversation as they led him to the library, then ran off to find scribes (except for a pair of men who remained at the door, because the king had just been assassinated and they couldn't lose Arthur too, not so soon after the last one).</p>
<p>Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth had done very well in finding scribes and assistants for himself. He'd assembled a little team for himself, three young ladies and two lordlings. They all bowed as they entered their new headquarters, but Geoffrey was the only one to speak.</p>
<p>"Sire, I am sorry for your loss."</p>
<p>Arthur met his gaze, saw genuine grief there, grief and pity and compassion. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Thank you, Sir Geoffrey." Another swallow. The librarian didn't comment. "Is this everyone?"</p>
<p>"Yes." He smiled ruefully. "I… felt it better to tread carefully."</p>
<p>"I know." Gods, he knew too well. "Wise of you."</p>
<p>"Thank you, sire."</p>
<p>Arthur sighed. "We'd best get this over with. One of you, take notes. I'm just giving you the gist of the command. It's up to you to make it sound suitably fancy and kinglike." Was his father's body even cold yet?</p>
<p>One of the girls grabbed a quill and parchment.</p>
<p>"This second Purge is over," Arthur proclaimed. Strange, that speaking could make it so. He'd spent so long unable to overturn his father's commands, but now, no one could countermand him. Not directly, at least. They'd have to be sneaky about it, indirect, just like Arthur and Morgana against their father.</p>
<p>(Could his sister possibly know yet? Gods, would he have to tell her in person? He hoped not.)</p>
<p>"Guards are no longer allowed to kill people without a trial. <em>No one</em> can kill anyone else without a trial. There will be no more of this murder in the streets."</p>
<p>A tension settled over the room. They must have heard the rumors of Arthur's allegiances. They must have some idea where this was heading.</p>
<p>"And, as of this day, the first of my reign…." Treaties, and laws, and legacy.</p>
<p>Justice, and reason, and the future.</p>
<p>"…magic is no longer punishable by death."</p>
<p>They startled at that. Perhaps they'd expected him to go all the way and legalize sorcery wholesale.</p>
<p>"There will be a fine instead." Because he couldn't legalize magic right away. It was too strongly entrenched in the law of the land, not to mention their treaties with other kingdoms. But nothing that he'd read indicated the penalty <em>had</em> to be fatal. "I'll send the details out in the next few days, but for now, note down that the fine can only be charged after a fair trial with the same standards of proof that we use for other crimes. And, hell, I'm issuing a blanket pardon for all acts of magic from the beginning of the Purge until now."</p>
<p>One of the lordlings spluttered. "Sire, you—your father—"</p>
<p>Arthur fixed him with a flat stare. "I am fully aware of how my father would react to this. I'm doing it anyways."</p>
<p>"The sorcerer has taken over his mind," breathed the other lordling, all appalled wonder.</p>
<p>"Merlin can barely manage his own mind," the new king snapped. "And, Merlin, if you're scrying this right now, tell your minions to let this message through. They've been intercepting the messengers and changing my father's orders," he added, seeing everyone else's confusion.</p>
<p>The first lordling spluttered. Two of the ladies were giving their king nervous looks as though they expected him to start foaming at the mouth any moment now. The third held herself completely rigid.</p>
<p>"Sire," began the second lordling. He stopped, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, but couldn't find any words.</p>
<p>"That explains a great deal," commented Geoffrey. He alone remained unperturbed.</p>
<p>"As most of my father's recent orders involved mass executions, I thought it best to let them get away with it. Besides, Merlin wouldn't listen anyways. The idiot says I'm his king, then smiles and nods and ignores half his direct orders." No, no, this was no time to rant, no matter how much he wanted to. "None of the things about Merlin go in the letter. Obviously. Polish up the language, then bring a draft for my approval before sending it out."</p>
<p>The second lordling regained his tongue. "Sire, I must protest!"</p>
<p>"You do that."</p>
<p>"I cannot—I <em>will not</em> work to restore sorcery," he proclaimed. "Sir Geoffrey, my king, I resign my post, and I beg Your Majesty to reconsider this—this <em>madness</em>. It will destroy the entire kingdom!"</p>
<p>"Camelot survived centuries before the Purge," Geoffrey reminded him. "Attacks from spellbinders only began after King Uther outlawed their way of life."</p>
<p>"You, surely you can't support this," he choked. He looked around at his compatriots, none of whom had spoken. "Tell them! Make them see what sort of disaster our king is inviting!"</p>
<p>"A druid saved my mother's life." It was the third lady, the one who had remained perfectly still throughout the argument. "She healed her leg after Mother fell from a horse. It was a bad break; she probably would have gotten gangrene and died if this druid hadn't used magic to help her." She swallowed hard, but when she lifted her gaze to Arthur's, her eyes were hard.</p>
<p>"Blanchefleur, you <em>can't</em>," the lordling begged. "The druid probably caused that fall in the first place just to trick you!"</p>
<p>Arthur was getting tired of this. "You resigned, did you not? I only want scribes and this meeting. You're dismissed."</p>
<p>He spluttered all the way out the door. It would have been amusing if he weren't so heartsick.</p>
<p>"I have… business to attend to. I'll be in my chambers when the draft is ready."</p>
<p>Blanchefleur curtsied, elbowed her fellow ladies until they did the same. Geoffrey and the remaining lordling bowed.</p>
<p>Arthur went to his room, closed the door behind him, and finally allowed himself to break.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Wyrmbasu is Basically Merlin's Justifiably Skeptical Babysitter"</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Never have, never will. Same with the Arthurian legend, though that's public domain by now. Yay public domain!</p><p>Next chapter: July 24. Arthur stands vigil. Merlin breaks tradition, but in a good way.</p><p>So. This is it. The last book of the main series! (Unless things get totally out of hand or I lose my mind or something.) So far, I have 11.5 chapters and the epilogue finished; I also wrote a one-shot in this universe, "Heoruwearg," about the time that Leon and Marrok learned that Marrok was a werewolf and only panicked a little. Love you guys! Stay safe, and happy reading!</p><p>-Antares</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Worth of Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Grief is complicated.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter II: The Worth of Tears</p>
<p>The funerary vigil was a custom that dated back to the earliest days of the land that would become Camelot, when local chiefs had honored their predecessors by standing watch over their bodies all through the night. Over the centuries, it had taken on the semi-mystic veneer of a proper ritual, with formal words of departure that Arthur had to speak before he was left alone with his father's earthly remains. It was a time for silence and contemplation, of planning and mourning, a private time to grieve without looking weak before the people that the new kings now led.</p>
<p>So <em>of course</em> that was when Merlin showed up.</p>
<p>Arthur had been there for perhaps an hour, alternately standing and pacing, trying so hard not to think. If he thought, the dam holding back his emotions would burst, and he didn't know if he would have the strength to pull himself together again. He'd barely managed to regain his composure when Geoffrey and Blanchefleur (the only new scribe to actually expend effort toward his project) came by with the draft.</p>
<p>He was pacing when an unnatural breeze blew through the great hall. Arthur stiffened, hand automatically going for the hilt of his sword. Spellbinders were supposed to know by now that he wanted to help them, but maybe someone had been offended by his failure to immediately end the Purge. Maybe that Morgause woman (who was also Morgana's half-sister, which made her Arthur's… sister once removed? He had no idea) had decided to go ahead with her mind control scheme.</p>
<p>Arthur wouldn't let them. (He steadfastly ignored the memory of Cornelius Sigan trussing him up like a goose, paralyzed by the warlock's telekinesis.) If they showed any sign of hostility, he'd shout for the guards and fight back.</p>
<p>It would be good to fight, he thought, just as the wind solidified and revealed that no, he wouldn't have to duel at all.</p>
<p>"Oh," he said dully, dropping his hand. "It's you."</p>
<p>"It's me," Merlin agreed softly.</p>
<p>Arthur turned away, stared sightlessly at the body on the bier. "As you can see, it's true," he commented, gesturing expansively. "Your worst enemy is—gone." It was stupid to not use the word. Not saying it wouldn't make it any less real. But he couldn't quite bring himself to speak the thing out loud. "Go tell your kin. I expect they'll want to celebrate."</p>
<p>Merlin stood at his side, magic-golden eyes fixed on the living king rather than the dead one. "They know. I got a bad feeling and scried you not long after it happened. I told them as soon as Basu and I got back from Listeneise."</p>
<p>Arthur had no idea who Basu was, nor did he care. His lips curled back in something like a sneer. "Ah. So the celebrations have already started. You should go back to them."</p>
<p>"I wasn't celebrating."</p>
<p><em>I wasn't</em>, not <em>we weren't</em>.</p>
<p>The dam broke, cracked open entirely by a wave of utter fury. "Well, don't withhold yourself on my account. I'm sure that your <em>friends</em> and <em>kin</em> are missing you. Or maybe not. Maybe they're so damn <em>happy</em> that <em>my father is dead</em> they haven't even noticed you're not there. They'll probably make it a holiday, 'Uther Pendragon is Dead Day,' celebrate it every year until the end of time with, with feasting and dancing and, and—what are you waiting for? <em>Go</em>. You hated him too. Go on! Go!"</p>
<p>"I'd rather stay."</p>
<p>Arthur was shaking. When had he started shaking? He pivoted, grabbed the golden-eyed (what magic is he doing right here in front of my dead father?) warlock by the shoulders, tremors wracking his arms and making Merlin's entire body tremble.</p>
<p>"No, no, I couldn't possibly keep you from the party. Unless you needed to make sure that your puppet king hasn't cut his strings? Don't worry about that, <em>Emrys</em>, I'm still going to give your damn people their liberty. I've already started. No more death penalty for magic—" Merlin gasped sharply, those magic-golden eyes round as saucers—"just some stupid little fine to slap your wrists. You'll all want to celebrate that, too, so just go. Why shouldn't you be happy on this <em>joyous, wonderful day</em>?!"</p>
<p>"Because you're not!" Merlin grabbed Arthur's arms, his grip strong enough to halt the shaking. "You're hurt, and miserable, and grieving, and I want to help you."</p>
<p>The new king barked a harsh, ugly laugh. "Well, you can't. You can't just wave your hands and make everything better! You just <em>can't</em>!"</p>
<p>(It distantly occurred to him that maybe Merlin could identify the assassin, recognize him as a sorcerer or a spellbinder's kinsman or something. He ignored the thought.)</p>
<p>"Of course I can't. Magic can't solve all problems," he protested, his irises still that damnable, loathsomely <em>magical</em> shade of gold. "But I—"</p>
<p>Arthur punched him before he knew what he was doing, fist slamming into Merlin's face with enough force to send the warlock staggering backwards. The king lunged again, intent on giving him another black eye to match—maybe then they'd turn blue again—but suddenly he was flat on his belly, a great weight on his back. Merlin had paused time.</p>
<p>But despite his temporary physical advantage, the warlock wasn't a warrior, not like Arthur was. The king went limp, pretending that the energy had gone out of him. When Merlin started to rise, Arthur jabbed his elbow up into the soft, unprotected flesh of his belly.</p>
<p><em>That</em> got a yell, one rather louder than Arthur had expected. A yell, and an opening. Now Merlin was the one on the floor, Merlin was—</p>
<p>Merlin was on top of him again, because he could pause time and Arthur couldn't, a fact which now struck him as distinctly unfair. Nobody should be allowed that kind of advantage.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry that you're hurting," the warlock told him, all gentle and earnest. "I'm sorry that I couldn't stop this, and that you've been all alone even before it happened. But. I'm here now, and Gwen and Morgana will come if you want them to. They refused to come to this vigil without permission, you know, but it was visibly painful for both of them. Will you hit me again if I let you up?"</p>
<p>"That depends. Will you quit it with the spell?"</p>
<p>"Spell?" Merlin was baffled. "I'm not casting any spells right now."</p>
<p>Arthur twisted to check. His former servant's eyes were still gold. "Of course you're casting a spell, I can see it in your eyes."</p>
<p>"Oh!" Understanding dawned. "No, that's actually my natural eye color. The blue was a glamor that Gaius put on me when I was a baby. I can put the glamor back up, if you'd like."</p>
<p>And now Arthur felt just… low. Low because he'd attacked a friend who was just trying to help him, low because the next few days—weeks—would be long and hard and lonely, low because his father was lying dead barely ten feet away. The breath left his body in a heavy sigh.</p>
<p>He was starting to shake again.</p>
<p>Merlin stood, offered a hand to help him up. "It's all right to cry, you know," he commented. "I'm not going to judge you for mourning your father, regardless of my own thoughts towards the man."</p>
<p>"He told me that no man was worth my tears."</p>
<p>The warlock snorted. "That's ridiculous."</p>
<p>Arthur slowly rose to a sitting position, scooted to rest his back against the wall. Would it be too much to hug his knees? Yes, probably.</p>
<p>Merlin sat next to him and said nothing. He just waited as the silence stretched out, a great yawning gap that demanded something to fill it.</p>
<p>"I thought I'd have more time. It's not even the equinox yet. I thought that I'd at least have a few more months to… convince him. Make him the man I used to think he was. But all we ever did was fight, with neither of us giving an inch of ground." The sigh rattled in his throat. "We just fought."</p>
<p>"He did love you, you know. Did I ever tell you about the time he hugged me?"</p>
<p>Arthur stared at him, absolutely convinced that he'd heard incorrectly. "Could you repeat that?"</p>
<p>Merlin repeated it. It still sounded like he was claiming that Uther had once hugged him, which…. No.</p>
<p>"Of course, he thought I was you at the time," the warlock continued. "It was back when Nimueh sent that wraith against us, remember? He had Gaius drug you so that you couldn't fight, but then I showed up in your shape with Excalibur and ruined their plan. He was <em>not</em> happy about that, so he came into the tent to talk me out of fighting the wraith. The wraith wanted him, not you, so Uther decided to give it what it wanted in the hopes that his sacrifice would keep you safe." Merlin frowned, brow furrowing in thought, before he gave a little nod. "'You are my <em>son</em>, and I love you more than anything else in the world.' Those were his exact words. And then he hugged me, thinking I was you, and I took the first possible opportunity to run away from him."</p>
<p>That startled a short laugh out of Arthur. The sound was watery.</p>
<p>His eyes were beginning to sting.</p>
<p>"I went out into the field where I thought he wouldn't follow. He followed. I was afraid that he'd have the guards physically drag me off the field, but eventually he went back to the stands. Looked so miserable that I actually felt sorry for him."</p>
<p>The world was blurring, and it was getting harder to breathe.</p>
<p>"But before he left, he told me how very proud he was of you, and not just because he thought you were the one to take on the wraith. For the way that you aren't afraid to stand up for your convictions, even if he doesn't agree with them. For how you treated Morgana when she came to live with you. For your skill in battle, your ability to lead, for being <em>you</em>. You might not have always agreed with each other, you might have fought, but nothing you did in the past year could have changed your father's love and pride."</p>
<p>Little hiccupping noises tore out of the new king's throat. He blinked rapidly, but his eyes just kept filling.</p>
<p>There in the shadows, Arthur Pendragon wept.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"I should be celebrating," Morgana muttered as she paced back and forth, back and forth. "He was a terrible person. Do you know how many thousands of people are dead because of him?" Gwen opened her mouth, but the lady ploughed on. "No, you don't, because <em>nobody</em> does, because there were so many that it's impossible to keep track! He was evil."</p>
<p>"Well," her friend pointed out, "that wasn't the side he showed to you most often. You and Arthur brought out the best in him." She worried at her lip, doubtless concerned for her beau's state of mind. If not for the sanctity of the vigil, she'd have gone to see him along with Merlin, who by now had doubtless been kicked out and yelled at for disturbing an ancient, sacred ritual.</p>
<p>Morgana would have gone with them, but not just to comfort her brother in his time of grief. She had a feeling that he of all people would understand. Gwen was patient and compassionate, but she wasn't (irrationally, stupidly) mourning like Morgana was.</p>
<p>Besides, she'd already spent far too long listening to the witch's complaints. She must have better things to do, though there was no way she'd join in the impromptu celebration outside their tent.</p>
<p>"What if you talked to Gaius?" Gwen asked, suddenly struck with inspiration. "He knew Uther better than almost anyone, the bad and the good. He might… have a better idea of what you're going through."</p>
<p>"That's a good idea. I think I will. Thanks, Gwen." But before she left to seek out the physician, the lady took her friend into a tight embrace. If a single tear fell onto her shoulder, there was no one around to witness it, and Gwen certainly wouldn't tell.</p>
<p>In deference to his age, Gaius had received lodging not within a tent but within one of the Labyrinth's hastily constructed lean-tos. He even had one of the few cots that they'd taken from the Isle of the Blessed. He sat on that cot now, face in his hands.</p>
<p>Now that she was here, Morgana discovered that she didn't know what to say. She eventually settled for sitting at his side.</p>
<p>"I should not weep," Gaius finally said, his voice hoarse from doing exactly that.</p>
<p>"We shouldn't. The world is better off without him."</p>
<p>"It is," the physician whispered. "In some ways, that's the saddest thing of all. Perhaps that's a tragedy more worthy of our tears."</p>
<p>"Maybe you're right." She clenched her fists, looked to the side. "How <em>like</em> him, to cause pain and suffering even when he's gone. I wish I didn't care."</p>
<p>"I've wished that for decades," Gaius sighed. "When the Purge first began, I thought that it would blow over quickly, that his lashing out would be temporary. He would release the spellbinders, compensate them, perhaps even apologize. But Ygraine's death broke him more deeply than I could comprehend."</p>
<p>"Everyone hurts," Morgana pointed out. "That's not a justification for hurting others. It should make you want to <em>prevent</em> pain, not inflict it." Except she knew how difficult that could be. She'd struggled with her own vengeful impulses all her life. Causing pain, she thought, was a sort of defense mechanism. Wounded animals would struggle wildly to stay alive, to take out their enemies before the enemies could hurt them more.</p>
<p>Was that why Uther had done it? Had he been afraid that spellbinders would hurt him again?</p>
<p>The thought struck her as deeply sad, pitiful enough to break down the fragile walls of her self-control. She found herself bawling into Gaius's shoulder, her hands clasping his robes.</p>
<p>And they mourned together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"The rumors are true," spat the great king, the Sarrum of Amata. "This puppet king intends to restore the scourge of sorcery."</p>
<p>"And you will not stand for that," Cenred observed, "hence your appearance in my chambers this night." He'd really rather be sleeping, but alas, secret meetings were easier to hold while everyone else was asleep.</p>
<p>"Of course we will not stand for that," sneered the mighty and powerful sovereign. "We were the first king to join Uther in his Purge. Now Uther Pendragon is dead, and his son wants to destroy his legacy entirely! He might as well hand over the crown to his <em>real</em> master."</p>
<p>Cenred nodded. He had a feeling that he knew where this was going. The king debated playing along, but he would need to sit through the very boring funeral and coronation tomorrow without falling asleep, so he cut to the chase. "You would see the crown pass elsewhere."</p>
<p>The majestic Sarrum smirked. "Yes. Your kingdom shares a border with Camelot. You have a claim to its crown through your great-grandmother, and I have a daughter whose betrothed has proven himself as spectacularly unsuitable as your own would-be bride."</p>
<p>"And so, you would give me Camelot."</p>
<p>The great warlord's lips curled back in disgust. "We would split Camelot down the middle."</p>
<p>"Essetir is closer," Cenred pointed out. It was true. His kingdom shared several dozen miles of border with Camelot, while Amata was one of those many nations that extended a single spit of land to touch Camelot's border, like a bunch of hands with a single finger poking out at something interesting. "My people would be doing the brunt of the takeover, and a child of your bloodline would be queen."</p>
<p>"Amata requires a base below our southern border, which is currently under Arthur Pendragon's rule." The splendid one folded his arms. If Cenred had possessed a death wish, he might have called the expression petulant. "We will have the Falcon's Vale."</p>
<p>Cenred made a show of thinking it over before nodding in acquiescence. "Very well, Amata may have the Falcon's Vale."</p>
<p>"They say that druids lurk there," murmured the excellent and supreme Sarrum. An ugly smile twisted his face. "It has been some time since we've hunted druids."</p>
<p>The other king didn't ask what, exactly, his counterpart did to druids. If half the rumors were true, he didn't want to know. "Perhaps I'll send you some from within my new borders."</p>
<p>"Then it is agreed."</p>
<p>He would never have another opportunity like this. Camelot was recovering from war and the internal devastation of Uther's madness. Parts of its capital were still in ruins; the castle itself had been uninhabitable until this very day. And Arthur Pendragon would never be more vulnerable. Recovering from his father's death, isolated from his powerful magical allies, already alienating his court and population with this insistence on restoring the sorcery they so feared and hated….</p>
<p>But he was still too dangerous to be allowed to escape. Cenred didn't believe in prophecies, but the people of magic did, and they'd decided that Arthur Pendragon was their mythical savior. More than that, he had the personal allegiance and loyalty of a sorcerer powerful enough to best the legendary Cornelius Sigan in single combat—and that was after trapping him in mortal flesh with an untested spell. Long-promised archmage or not, this Merlin of Ealdor had a vested interest in keeping his royal friend on the throne—and he might just have the power to do it, should he catch wind of a coup before Arthur's death shattered his hopes.</p>
<p>If Arthur died, he could become a martyr. He probably would, if only to druids and their lot. But if he survived, he had the resources to destroy Cenred's rule, maybe his life.</p>
<p>"Arthur Pendragon needs to die first," he stated. "But not in a way that will rally everyone against us." Well, he didn't actually care if it incriminated Sarrum, but he had to keep up appearances.</p>
<p>"We know," agreed the wise and sagacious leader. That ugly grin was back, wider than before. "His death will break them in a way nothing else ever could."</p>
<p>"Yes. They need to break."</p>
<p>And then, a heady thought occurred to him: What was broken could be restored.</p>
<p>The people of magic thought that Arthur Pendragon was their Once and Future King, destined conqueror of the entire island. He didn't know how they'd come to that conclusion—perhaps they just enjoyed the irony of Uther Pendragon's heir saving magic—but he could guess why they thought Merlin of Ealdor was their just-as-legendary Emrys. He must be powerful indeed, with an unheard-of clout among his kin.</p>
<p>If 'Emrys' lost his king, he'd need to find a new one or risk losing his position. Who better than Arthur's kinsman, sovereign of Merlin's own hometown? And if he could convince the sorcerers that he was their best bet for freedom, then he would be the only monarch on the entire island with magic on his side. Magic, and all the resources of two powerful kingdoms.</p>
<p>The possibilities were… breathtaking.</p>
<p>So he smiled as he nodded. "Yes, they need to break. They <em>will</em> break."</p>
<p>He would see to it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Arthur Learns his Father's Most Embarrassing Secret"</p>
<p>Next update: August 14. Arthur gets reinforcements.</p>
<p>I'm thinking of going through the other parts of this series and posting commentary on them on my tumblr, sort of like really long ANs. Dunno if that'll actually happen, though.</p>
<p>Stay safe!</p>
<p>(And for my next trick, I shall attempt to fix the AN for chapter one, which I am very bad at. Hopefully it will actually work this time.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The King's Knights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur gets some much-needed backup.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter III: The King's Knights</p>
<p>"Specifically?" Morgana echoed blankly. (In her defense, the witch would later claim, she was still thrown by Arthur not kicking Merlin out of the vigil.)</p>
<p>"Specifically," the warlock confirmed. "He misses you and Gwen, and he needs somebody he can trust wholeheartedly." The warlock was beginning to get impatient, which, he told himself, was not fair. He'd been fielding questions about Arthur's actions, intentions, and so on ever since the morning's meeting ended an hour ago, but that wasn't a reason to snap. "The knights won't be back for a few more days, and, well… I think he wants to use you as a figurehead of sorts. You did so much good during the last few weeks of Uther's reign. He wants people to remember that and really internalize that it was a witch who did it."</p>
<p>"But isn't the King of Amata still there?" Gwen asked, brimming with worry. "I wouldn't trust him to uphold the pardon, even if he knew it would start a war."</p>
<p>"He's trying to get rid of Sarrum as quickly as possible. Cenred, too." Merlin grimaced. "I hope it works. I really don't like the thought of him all alone with those two. Their reputations precede them in the worst possible way."</p>
<p>"But the knights might be there by the time the kings leave," Morgana pointed out.</p>
<p>"I know," Merlin said. "I just… worry, I guess."</p>
<p>"I don't know if it's a good idea for me to go back to Camelot," the witch told him. "And it's not just because I'm…." She winced. "…afraid."</p>
<p>Merlin took her hand, marveling that he was allowed to do so. "There's no shame in that. Everyone's afraid."</p>
<p>"Still," she muttered, "I don't want you to think that's my only reason. I'm not sure if having any known spellbinder so near to Arthur is good for him politically. Even when I left, there were rumors that you had him under an enchantment. If you or I are parading around at his side all the time, a lot more people are going to believe those rumors."</p>
<p>"That makes sense," he was forced to admit.</p>
<p>"But you can't just leave him there unprotected," Gwen protested. "I'm not a spellbinder. Do you think I could be any help, or would I just be another liability?"</p>
<p>Merlin wished he could give her the answer she wanted. "You're associated with both of us and with Gaius, too," he reminded her. "They might think you're a witch, too, but you don't have magic to defend yourself."</p>
<p>She slumped. "And I'm not skilled enough with the sword, either."</p>
<p>"You don't need skill in arms to be useful," Morgana chided.</p>
<p>"Yes," sighed Gwen, "but they do come in handy when one's life is in danger." She straightened, steel entering her eyes. "So if none of us can go, who can? I think that Gilli might be a good candidate. He knows magic and swordplay, and he's used to hiding his nature. He's loyal to you, Merlin, and to Arthur, too, so we could trust him."</p>
<p>"Gilli's not used to the court, though, and he'd need some excuse to be there," Morgana stressed. "He doesn't know Arthur, and Arthur doesn't know him, either."</p>
<p>"But Arthur doesn't know many spellbinders," Gwen replied. "Though I suppose they don't have to be spellbinders as long as they can defend themselves and help him." She paused, a frown furrowing her brows. "Merlin, how far away are Elyan and the others?"</p>
<p>"Three or four days, probably. They didn't set out too long ago."</p>
<p>"How many people can you transport at a time?"</p>
<p>The warlock considered. "I don't know. I haven't really transported masses of people yet, and I've been pouring a lot of magic into Listeneise these last few days. I might need three trips to get them and their horses closer to the citadel." He didn't think that anybody would appreciate him teleporting the knights directly into the castle, so he'd have to deposit them at some isolated place near the wall. "Maybe two, if I'm lucky. Today's a good day."</p>
<p>His stomach twinged. Merlin barely kept his hand from moving toward the scab. Gwen and Morgana tended to overreact when his stab wound started acting up. "Probably three," he amended. A grimace. "If they let me take them. They did just finish saving a princess from a magical threat."</p>
<p>"They'll let you," Gwen assured him.</p>
<p>"…even Leon?" He hadn't seen the former First Knight since being exposed as a spellbinder—or Elyan or Gwaine or Leon's squire Marrok, for that matter. Hell, he hadn't met Percival at all! Lancelot had known his secret from the start, but he couldn't guess how the others would react to a warlock popping up out of the blue and offering them transport.</p>
<p>Morgana squeezed his hand. "There's no shame in fear," she murmured. "But I don't think you need to be afraid. None of them showed any indication that they hated magic in general or you in particular."</p>
<p>"She's right," Gwen confirmed. "Elyan asked me a lot about you, those first few days. He told me that you were clearly a bit of an idiot, but your intentions were obviously good, and that he'd always had qualms about the Purge. Then, while he traveled, he learned more about the world and about magic. And when Arthur flat-out said that he was going to repeal the Purge, <em>none</em> of them protested at all."</p>
<p>Merlin pulled up short, eyes wide (and, if he was completely honest, maybe a bit wet at the edges). "Really?"</p>
<p>"Really." She smiled at him. "I think, Merlin, that you might have more allies than you realize. Yes, there are thousands of people who hate magic or fear it or both, but there are also those who know better… and even those who despise you can change their hearts. You've done more than you understood."</p>
<p>"…Thank you, Gwen." He'd needed to hear that.</p>
<p>She dimpled. "You're very welcome, Merlin. And thank you for bringing Arthur his protectors."</p>
<p>The warlock chuckled. "Right. I've still got awhile before reaching the point of collapse—no, no, not like <em>that</em>. It was a long, sleepless night, that's all." He hadn't slept a wink, not with how much Arthur had needed him, and then he'd had to tell everyone about the new king's changes, and then of course he'd had to call another meeting to tell everybody about Arthur's proclamations. He was tired—but if there was one good thing about his convalescence, it was that he could better recognize when he was about to fall over and when he could keep going. Right now, he could keep going. There was no need for Gwen and Morgana to look at him like that. "Let me get my scrying things."</p>
<p>Morgana folded her arms. "Someone else can scry for you," she decreed. "No, Merlin, don't give me that look, not with those enormous bags under your eyes."</p>
<p>He huffed but decided to humor her. They grabbed the nearest wizard and asked for her services; she went all wide-eyed at being asked to aid Emrys, but Merlin was beginning to get used to that. Well, he knew how to ignore it, at the very least.</p>
<p>The knights were on a boring, otherwise unoccupied section of road somewhere in Gawant. Judging from everybody's expressions and Gwaine's flamboyant gesticulations, the former rogue was in the middle of another tavern tale. They'd probably welcome any distraction, even a sorcerous one.</p>
<p>Merlin looked at the cloaks flowing from their shoulders, each as red as the blood of his people. No, he reminded himself. No, these weren't bloodcloaks. They were his friends (except Percival, whom he'd never met, but the big fellow seemed a decent enough chap). They were… probably all still his friends. They were—</p>
<p>He spoke the words of the teleportation spell before he could talk himself out of it. Moments later, he landed on gravel, and they'd <em>drawn their swords</em>—</p>
<p>The warlock acted instinctively, flinging up a shield of golden light. Half the horses reared; the other half stumbled to a halt.</p>
<p>"It's Merlin!" Lancelot called. "Put your swords away, it's just Merlin."</p>
<p>And they… put their swords away. They made themselves vulnerable in front of him, a known spellbinder, when they thought that Uther was still alive and he ought to be their sworn enemy.</p>
<p>Merlin lowered his shield, a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry about that," he said awkwardly.</p>
<p>"Us too," replied Gwaine. "We thought you might be one of the Sidhe, here to wreak horrible vengeance upon us for ruining their little princess plot."</p>
<p>It would be counterproductive to fully explain his mother's heritage, so Merlin settled with, "Don't worry about them. Mother will make them see sense if they try anything."</p>
<p>"Your mother?" Leon parroted. Leon, who had grown up in the citadel of Camelot itself, who had been surrounded by Uther's hatred and vitriol his entire life.</p>
<p>Leon, who wasn't treating him any differently, who looked at him with a wonderfully familiar expression of bafflement.</p>
<p>Merlin beamed at him. "It's a long story," he explained, "and it's not what I'm here for." His smile faded. "Yesterday, someone shot King Uther. He's dead." Still strange, to say those words, even now that he'd seen the man's body.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Dead?"</p>
<p>"How the hell did that happen?"</p>
<p>Merlin decided to focus on the last question. "Apparently they were going back to their castle when someone shot off an arrow from the rooftops. The man killed himself right after he fired, so we can only guess why. Well, we know <em>why</em>, it's not that hard to figure out, we just don't know which specific action pushed him over the edge. But Arthur is king now, so it's completely safe for you to go back, and he's all alone with King Cenred of Essetir and King Sarrum of Amata breathing down his neck."</p>
<p>"Alone?" choked Elyan. "What happened to Gwen?"</p>
<p>That's right, they wouldn't have known about <em>that</em> debacle either. "She's fine," Merlin promised. "Morgana too. The short version is that Uther learned Morgana was a witch, so they had to leave Camelot for the Isle of the Blessed, but they weren't poisoned or even wounded there, so they're perfectly fine. They just can't go back yet."</p>
<p>"Poison?"</p>
<p>"Morgana's a witch?"</p>
<p>"Why would they have been wounded?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"They're safe and healthy," Merlin reiterated. "The army didn't scratch them."</p>
<p>"I see what you mean," Percival said to Lancelot, whose nod had a distinctly exasperated air.</p>
<p>That reminded him. Merlin hesitated a moment, then stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "I don't think we've officially met. Merlin Caledonensis."</p>
<p>"Percival."</p>
<p>They shook, the knight in his chainmail and the warlock in his long blue cloak, enemies that <em>weren't</em>.</p>
<p>"Explain what happened," Elyan demanded, his entire face taut. "<em>Now</em>. And do a better job of it this time."</p>
<p>So Merlin delivered the whole story, a coil of tension steadily unwinding in his belly. He finished with, "We're almost ready to move out of our temporary base to somewhere more permanent, a place much more isolated and unexpected than the Isle of the Blessed. They're safe, but Arthur isn't. Can I bring you to him?"</p>
<p>"Cenred's a bastard," Gwaine said darkly, "and Sarrum's supposed to be even worse. Can't leave my drinking buddy alone with them."</p>
<p>"He needs someone," Leon agreed, "but it can't be someone with an explicitly pro-magic agenda." He nodded. "Us."</p>
<p>"Yes." Merlin wondered if this was a bizarrely vivid dream. Things usually didn't work out quite so well for him.</p>
<p>Leon looked back at his squire, presumably asking if the boy was all right going back via magic and protecting a king who wanted to end the Purge. Marrok just stared at Merlin, his own expression unreadable. The warlock smiled and tried to look harmless.</p>
<p>"Let's go," said Lancelot, once the silence extended into the territory of awkwardness.</p>
<p>Merlin nodded. He reached out with his magic, wrapping it around as many as it could carry. The incantation flowed from his mouth, and wind gusted away with them on its wings. Then the breeze died down, and Merlin's heart froze.</p>
<p>Exhausted as he was, with blackness creeping across the corners of his vision, he'd still managed to bring all six warriors and their horses to a secluded glen about three miles from the city gates.</p>
<p>Sometimes, the depth of his own power frightened him.</p>
<p>At least he <em>was</em> tired. Not as exhausted as he should be—he honestly should have passed out upon landing—but still tired. That was something.</p>
<p>"I need to leave now," the warlock told the knights. His voice shook a little, but he left before anyone could question it.</p>
<p>He landed by his bedroll in Gedref and barely managed to lie down before he passed out.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur just wanted to sleep.</p>
<p>It was not, he reflected, a very appropriate desire for his first full day as king, however understandable it might be after standing vigil for the night. The vigil was a powerful tradition, but it had its downsides. He'd have to take a nap after lunch, which wasn't kingly at all.</p>
<p>He hoped that Merlin could talk Morgana and Guinevere into coming. Perhaps the exposed witch and her suspiciously-affiliated maid weren't ideal political backup, but he wanted—needed—someone else here. Yet as the first hour of the morning slipped away, so did his hopes. They must have decided that the cons outweighed the pros, that it wasn't worth the risk.</p>
<p>Then he received word that his knights had returned early from Gawant.</p>
<p>For a few moments, Arthur just stared at the page without comprehension, his mind fogged by sleeplessness and the dull minutiae of planning tomorrow's funeral and coronation. When the words finally penetrated, though, a smile broke out across his face.</p>
<p>"Send them in," he ordered.</p>
<p>Their presence alone was enough to wake him up a little, and the news of their adventure in Godwin's court woke him up even more. "Possessed?" he repeated incredulously.</p>
<p>"Yes," Lancelot confirmed, "at least partially. She was only influenced by Rionach most of the time. Rionach only assumed full control when she was with Grunhilda."</p>
<p>"So how did you get rid of her?" Arthur frowned, brow furrowing. "And how the devil did you know that something was wrong?"</p>
<p>An uncomfortable silence fell as the knights exchanged shifty glances, a disproportionate amount of which were aimed at Leon's squire Marrok. Arthur's frown deepened. He fixed his gaze on the boy, one brow quirked in question.</p>
<p>Marrok squirmed.</p>
<p>"We got rid of her by threatening her with Merlin," Leon volunteered brightly. Protecting his squire. Come to think of it, he'd always been quite protective of the boy. But….</p>
<p>"Have I mentioned that all spellbinders in the kingdom received a royal pardon yesterday?" Arthur queried dryly. "And that I changed the penalty for magic from death to a small fine, and that I intend to overturn the Purge completely, so there is no need whatsoever for warlocks to fear me learning their true nature?"</p>
<p>Marrok averted his gaze. "I'm not a warlock," he mumbled.</p>
<p>A sorcerer, then, whose powers had been exposed over the course of their stint in Astolat (though why anybody in Camelot would <em>choose</em> sorcery….). Fine. Arthur didn't care that they didn't trust him. "All right. We'll leave aside the question of how you knew something was wrong with the princess and move on to how you used <em>Merlin</em> to make them cooperate."</p>
<p>They seemed to find this compromise acceptable and immediately launched into an account of how Merlin was a surprisingly effective bludgeoning tool. They hesitated a little at the part where Rionach threatened them with something very carefully left nonspecific—had she known about Marrok's magic? She must have—but otherwise, the impromptu debriefing went quite smoothly.</p>
<p>"The really good news is that King Godwin and his kids were happy enough about us saving Elena's mind that he doesn't begrudge Uther ending the unofficial betrothal," Gwaine chirped.</p>
<p>Arthur groaned as his little bubble of contentment burst, hid his head in his hands.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" Lancelot asked, alarmed.</p>
<p>"Betrothals," he groaned. "I tried to avoid Cenred and Sarrum as much as possible yesterday, but today I'll have to end <em>that</em> betrothal, too."</p>
<p>Gwaine clapped a hand on his back. "Look on the bright side," he advised. "He already hates you for supporting magic, so it's not like this will ruin your alliance. You've already done that."</p>
<p>"Whatever would I do without your wisdom?" Arthur groused, but the rogue's comment actually did make him feel a bit better. Wonders would never cease.</p>
<p>Though he still wasn't looking forward to it. The Amatan princess could get very shrill.</p>
<p>"If you do it early enough," the rogue continued, "you might be able to make them skulk off in a huff <em>today</em>."</p>
<p>Arthur perked up. He hadn't thought of that.</p>
<p>"I'm a werewolf," Marrok blurted, his words stumbling over each other. His face was very pale.</p>
<p>Arthur blinked at him. "Oh," he said, somewhat bemused and not entirely certain what werewolves were. "That's not what I'd expected."</p>
<p>Marrok looked like he was ready to start hyperventilating.</p>
<p>The king sighed. "Your secret is safe with me."</p>
<p>The werewolf's breathing calmed ever so slightly.</p>
<p>"Now then," Arthur said, returning to the topic at hand, "Cenred and Sarrum are only my two most powerful opponents here at court. I don't think that my dear cousin cares too much about magic, but Sarrum is… rabid. My first goal is to drive him off. Hopefully, with him gone, I'll be able to make Cenred see sense, and we can renegotiate the current treaty between Camelot and Essetir."</p>
<p>"Why do you need to do that?" Elyan asked curiously.</p>
<p>It was Gwaine of all people who answered. "Camelot has treaties with most of the other kingdoms on the island. Basically, if someplace refuses to outlaw magic, Camelot and all the other nations will go to war against it. Those treaties are the only reason that the Purge actually succeeded. Otherwise, people would have just walked into a kingdom that hadn't outlawed magic and the political landscape would look <em>very</em> different right now."</p>
<p>"I'm going to call a summit," Arthur told them. "Invite all the monarchs I can, try to renegotiate en masse. In the best-case scenario, which honestly probably won't happen, I'll be able to legalize magic by early spring."</p>
<p>He paused then as the reality of the words struck him.</p>
<p>Spring. By spring—just a few months from now—the world might be remade again.</p>
<p>His father had only died the day before. He wouldn't be buried until tomorrow, and then Arthur would be crowned before all Camelot. He was king already, yes, but the ceremony would force all of Camelot to acknowledge his title, his power, his right to make these changes.</p>
<p>His father hadn't been buried yet, and Arthur was already undoing his life's work, because that was the right thing to do.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes as a fresh tide of grief swelled up and over him.</p>
<p>A hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" Lancelot asked quietly.</p>
<p>Arthur opened his eyes, clenched his fists. "I will be," he vowed. "One way or another, I will be."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Congratulations to those of you who guessed/deduced that the knights were coming back. Have an imaginary cake, cookie, or other dessert of your choosing.</p>
<p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Percival Learns that Lancelot was not Exaggerating Merlin's Inability to Explain Himself in the Most Alarming Way Possible"</p>
<p>Next chapter: September 4. A funeral, a coronation, and much plotting.</p>
<p>Stay safe, friends.</p>
<p>-Antares</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. His Crown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Camelot goes through severe emotional whiplash.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter IV: His Crown</p>
<p>The funeral passed by in a haze of misery. Sarrum, as Uther's old friend and ally, claimed the right to deliver the eulogy, with Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth presiding over the other parts of the service. Arthur sat in dull silence until it was time for the burial, at which point he rose to his feet, descended into the earth to the ancient catacombs of his ancestors.</p>
<p>Cornelius Sigan's earthquake had collapsed some of the tunnels entirely, forever sealing portions of Camelot's history behind tons of shattered stone. Their sarcophagi must have been crushed, their bones powdered to dust. Perhaps Bruta Pendragon lay in one of the tombs that had been destroyed; at some point in the last few centuries, the catacombs had grown into a vast labyrinthine web of tunnels and chambers extending deep, deep into the earth. No one knew their extent, not anymore.</p>
<p>The chamber in which Uther Pendragon's bones would lie for all eternity was sparse, even barren, save for the great stone coffin that would hold him. Fresh gashes proclaimed this the tomb of UTHER I PENDRAGON, SON OF CONSTANS II PENDRAGON, who had lived for fifty-six years and ruled for almost thirty of them. A lion rampant, Uther's personal crest, and the Pendragon family's dragon sigil stood guard over the words. Over the next few weeks, stoneworkers would carve more inscriptions into the walls to tell the story of his reign.</p>
<p>Ygraine's bones lay across the hall. Husband and wife would rest barely ten feet apart.</p>
<p>His father would have liked that, Arthur thought dully.</p>
<p>One day, his own body would be carried down this very tunnel, past his parents' bones into another waiting chamber. He wondered what his heir would feel upon that day. Hopefully, the next king's emotions would be less… complicated.</p>
<p>A somber luncheon marked the end of the funeral, and then Arthur had two hours to prepare for his coronation. He spent them tweaking his speech, trying to memorize the alterations, and only changed from funereal black to splendor in Camelot red and gleaming steel and fiery gold.</p>
<p>He did not wear his crown. Not yet.</p>
<p>The mood in the throne room had changed as completely as its décor. The golden dragon hung from every wall, covering the bare stone. Every curtain was pulled back, letting great shafts of sunlight spill over the floor. A long red rug led from the entrance to the throne upon its dais.</p>
<p>Every courtier still wore traces of black, mostly in the form of dark armbands. Arthur wore one as well. But their mourning had vanished. A frisson of excitement ran through the crowd, a quiet murmur that swelled when Arthur entered the room, bursting into occasional pockets of cheers.</p>
<p>He walked slowly, silently, shoulders weighed down by his heavy fur-lined cape. This wasn't how he'd wanted his coronation. The knights were here, yes, but four other important guests were not—or at least not openly. Merlin had said that he would try to bring Gaius, Morgana, and Guinevere to stand disguised among the townsfolk.</p>
<p>Pages flourished their coronets, the sound as bright as the sunshine. They played a melody of triumph, of regality, of strength and honor. It hummed through Arthur's bones, made him stand a little bit straighter.</p>
<p>Then he was there, dropping to his knees for the last time. Sir Geoffrey stood before him, resplendent in his formal robes, a heavy circlet of gold and jewels in his hands.</p>
<p>The room held its breath.</p>
<p>"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs?" Ancient words, dating back to when Bruta had forged the local tribes into a kingdom.</p>
<p>"I solemnly swear to do so," Arthur vowed, just as his father and grandfather and so many of his ancestors had done. Their eyes were upon him today. He could feel the weight of their judgement.</p>
<p>"Will you, so far as it is in your power, cause Law and Justice and Mercy to be executed in all your judgements?"</p>
<p>"I will," he swore, meaning it with every fiber of his being. No matter how difficult it was, he would.</p>
<p>Geoffrey nodded slightly as though he could trace the trail of Arthur's thoughts. "Then by the sacred powers vested in me, I crown you Arthur, King of Camelot!"</p>
<p>Gold and jewels, so heavy upon his head.</p>
<p>He stood as the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers. "Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!"</p>
<p>A cacophony of sound, echo upon echo upon new cries, and a few voices that weren't speaking out loud at all. "<em>Long live the king</em>!" the four of them chorused in thought-speech meant for him alone.</p>
<p>Except it wasn't just Merlin, Morgana, Guinevere, and Gaius. There were other silent voices crying out, too: men and women he'd never heard before, who called him not just 'the king' but 'the Once and Future King.'</p>
<p><em>All</em> the peoples of Camelot.</p>
<p>The shouting crescendoed even more as Arthur took his throne. Some people were throwing flower petals into the air. Others whistled, applauded, cheered.</p>
<p>There were so very many of them. His, now, until he died. His to protect and guide.</p>
<p>…Oh, gods, he was absolutely not prepared for this. Could they tell? Could they see that he had no idea what he was doing?</p>
<p>(Had his father ever felt so uncertain, so weighted down by his responsibilities?)</p>
<p>But there was one more task to accomplish before the ceremony was complete. Arthur lifted a hand, stood, strode to the top of the stairs. The crowd fell silent, waiting for their new king to speak.</p>
<p>He couldn't remember his speech. He'd worked on it so hard, so long, and now he couldn't remember a single blasted word of it, and they were all staring at him expectantly, and he had to say something, so he opened his mouth and made something up.</p>
<p>"People of Camelot." That was good, that was very good. "This past season has seen so much suffering. Some of it—Cornelius Sigan's attacks and the war with Magance—were external threats. They left our home in ruins and caused so many deaths. But much of the damage came from within. We have been torn apart by laws that make fair trials unnecessary, laws that allow citizens to be cut down in the streets or in their own homes on nothing more than someone's word.</p>
<p>"I have never been quiet about my opposition to those decrees, and I overturned them within mere hours of my father's assassination. You are safe, now, from sudden death within your own homes." He leaned forward. "That is my goal as king: to make <em>all</em> my people, however great or small, as safe, prosperous, and happy as possible.</p>
<p>"To fulfill this goal, I will be instigating several policy changes, some of which will take some getting used to. You have my word that I will to my utmost to make this transition as smooth and peaceful as possible. I ask you to trust me. Trust that I neither desire nor intend to favor one segment of the population over any of the others, but that I hope to create a world in which every man, woman, and child might equally enjoy the protection of the law.</p>
<p>"I cannot change everything overnight, much as I would like to. The king is not above the law, and so I must work within the legal strictures of the land and in our treaties with other nations. To do otherwise would make me a tyrant and break the oaths I just took. That, I refuse to do. I am your king, and you are all my people, my responsibility. I will take care of you."</p>
<p>He fell silent, letting the words fill the chamber. They looked back at him with all sorts of breeds of silence: the quiet, resentful sort; tongues bitten from silent hope; people who didn't know what to say at all.</p>
<p>"Long live the king!"</p>
<p>A single voice broke the silence. Arthur did not recognize it, but he had a good idea of who might be shouting. Sure enough, when he looked towards the source of the call, he saw that the shouter was wearing a neckerchief.</p>
<p>"Long live the king!" Now the people beside him—two women and an older man, a couple that appeared to be married—were joining in. The knights were shouting, too.</p>
<p>"Long live the king!"</p>
<p>It spread like fire, erupting from every throat: "Long live the king!"</p>
<p>"Long live the <em>king</em>!"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morgana and Morgause sat together on the shore of Gedref, staring out at the sunset and waves. The witch's lips were tight, the sorceress's downturned. Arthur's court was celebrating his coronation, and Morgana was glad he was king, too. Truly, she was. And she understood why her brother had to tread carefully. She just needed to be certain that Morgause was on the same page.</p>
<p>"You understand, of course," the lady said. She didn't have to specify.</p>
<p>"I do," Morgause grudgingly admitted. "As you and Merlin Emrys keep pointing out, he can't immediately overturn the Purge without risking war on multiple fronts, and that would be counterproductive." She grimaced. "That doesn't mean I like it."</p>
<p>"I don't either," Morgana sighed, "but we have to accept it."</p>
<p>"And I do, if that's what you're worried about. Merlin and I have held several <em>long</em> discussions about the ethics and practicality of mind control. Goddess, can he ever talk."</p>
<p>Her sister's lips quirked. "That he can."</p>
<p>Morgause tapped her fingers against the ancient wood. "I've been thinking of sending some of my Blood Guard to help him. Undercover, of course."</p>
<p>"Not a bad idea."</p>
<p>But something was clearly still troubling her. Morgana waited a few moments longer before deciding that waiting was pointless. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"Sarrum of Amata was one of his guests."</p>
<p>"Yes, Uther invited the bastard to Camelot so Arthur could marry his daughter Orgeluse, the Haughty Maid." Morgana grinned. "He broke the betrothal yesterday. Rumor has it that her screeches of outrage echoed throughout the entire citadel."</p>
<p>A smirk. "Good, but I knew most of that already. He's been trying to get rid of them since they arrived, hasn't he?"</p>
<p>"Knowing Arthur, yes."</p>
<p>"Sarrum isn't going to take this standing down. He might not have started the Purge, but he is even worse than Uther." She grimaced. "You've heard the stories about his… prison?" From her tone, she considered 'prison' a generous term.</p>
<p>"A few," Morgana admitted, grimacing in response.</p>
<p>"It's a horrific, torture-filled hellhole that he uses to persecute our people and anyone he thinks might be one of our kin." Morgause met her sister's eyes. "I want to burn it to the ground."</p>
<p>…Morgana should <em>probably</em> protest this course of action based on diplomatic grounds. Even though Sarrum would never be Arthur's ally—she'd be surprised if he <em>didn't</em> declare war the moment he got home—a show of force like this would terrify so many people, make their ultimate task that much harder to fulfill. Even worse, there was no way Sarrum wouldn't take revenge for the destruction of his prized pit.</p>
<p>But there were people being tortured there right now, people like her and her sister and her love, and now that Morgause had brought it up, she couldn't just ignore the possibility of their rescue.</p>
<p>So she nodded slowly. "Do you have a plan?"</p>
<p>"Only the basics. We'd need a better picture of the situation before attempting an assault. Terrain, security, prisoner count, how many people will help us. We'll need healers for certain. Do you think we could persuade Anhora to lend us some unicorns?"</p>
<p>"I hope so."</p>
<p>"And what about the Great Dragon? He's too large to fit in the tunnels, but he might be useful in other ways."</p>
<p>"He doesn't like me," Morgana groused, "so let's maybe hold off on asking him until we have more information and a better plan. Do you have a scrying bowl?"</p>
<p>"Not here," Morgause replied, "but I know where to find one."</p>
<p>Morgana stood. "Lead the way."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Say what you would about the people of Camelot, Gwaine mused cheerily as he staggered down the hallway, but they certainly knew how to hold a party. With only a day and a half to plan and a kitchen not up to its full capacity, the head cook had somehow managed an appropriately somber funeral luncheon and a spectacular coronation feast on the same day. He'd thought, on and off throughout the night, that he really ought to go thank her. Now that the feast was over and the boring fancy dancing part was in full swing, he intended to go do exactly that.</p>
<p>And once he'd literally sung the praises of the head cook, it seemed only appropriate that Gwaine thank everybody else, too. He wandered the kitchens bestowing gracious words of gratitude upon everyone from the spit-turners to the scullions. The sole exception was the portly matron who, he learned, had been in charge of selecting the party's alcohol. Rather than settle for thanking her effusively, he proposed to her on the spot.</p>
<p>"…I'm married, sir."</p>
<p>"Four children," another kitchen servant added.</p>
<p>"Your husband is a lucky man," Gwaine solemnly decreed.</p>
<p>"Thank you, sir."</p>
<p>Gwaine returned to his rounds of gratitude.</p>
<p>Eventually, the kitchen staff managed to politely but firmly push him out of their domain, citing their need to finish cleaning the dishes and Gwaine's need to sleep (now that they mentioned it, he <em>was</em> rather sleepy). With one last compliment shouted to the entire room, Gwaine departed.</p>
<p>What nice, smart people. Arthur should give them all a raise. He'd mention that tomorrow.</p>
<p>Gwaine ambled off to bed, his thoughts a pleasant haze. Up, right, right, down the hall….</p>
<p>He turned a corner and nearly walked right into King Cenred of Essetir.</p>
<p>The two of them jerked back automatically, Gwaine stumbling slightly. The other man's guards drew their swords.</p>
<p>"Whoa," Gwaine said, hands upheld, "that's not necessary."</p>
<p>"No," Cenred agreed, surprisingly reasonable for a kinslaying, usurping rat bastard, "it isn't." He frowned deeply, staring at the knight's face like he was trying to remember something. "Have we met?"</p>
<p>His blurry thoughts sharpened. Sobriety spread like ice through his veins. "Nope," Gwaine blurted, "I don't think we have. But I was following Arthur—King Arthur—around a lot yesterday, so you probably noticed my stunning good looks then." He grinned, lips stretching too tight across his teeth.</p>
<p>The king gazed at him a moment longer before nodding slightly, his frown curving into a smile. "Yes, that must be it. Sir… Elyan, was it?"</p>
<p>"Gwaine, actually," he was forced to admit, praying that the name didn't mean anything to him. Why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to knowingly walk into a place where he <em>knew</em> Cenred would be lurking?</p>
<p>Oh, right, because he'd somehow managed to befriend the man's second cousin, a king, the son of the man who'd knocked Loth off the throne of Essetir.</p>
<p>He was an idiot.</p>
<p>"Gwaine," Cenred murmured, contemplative. "I see."</p>
<p>He needed to get out of here. Gwaine doubled over with a groan, grasping at his stomach in a way he'd seen hundreds of times at various taverns. "Any of you got a bucket?"</p>
<p>They didn't, thankfully, so the drunken knight made his excuses and staggered off, ostensibly to the nearest privy but really to the safety of his own chambers, where he collapsed onto the floor with a low groan. "I'm an idiot," he told the empty room.</p>
<p>But there was no reason for Cenred to suspect anything, he reminded himself, no reason whatsoever. And even if he did, there wasn't much he could do about it. Gwaine was one of Arthur's knights, now, under Camelot's protection. Cenred wouldn't….</p>
<p>(Not that such an attempt would be successful, the bitter part of him reflected. It had been so very long.)</p>
<p>So there really wasn't any need to tell Arthur or the other knights, he decided, conveniently ignoring that his little secret could cause problems for them, too, no need to bring up the part of his past that still stung like a barbed arrow. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, avoid Cenred as much as possible (which, to be fair, he'd been doing already), and not do anything too stupid until the delegation returned to Essetir, which would hopefully be very soon.</p>
<p>Unless Arthur decided to keep Cenred around after Sarrum left in an attempt at some one-on-one reasoning. Then he might stay… a very long time.</p>
<p>"Not gonna happen," the rogue muttered to himself.</p>
<p>(A childish part of his being, one that he'd thought long-dead, almost wanted the realization to strike. As a boy, he'd dreamed of a confrontation like that so many times. As a man, he knew that the world didn't work that way.)</p>
<p>Nothing, <em>nothing</em>, was going to happen, he repeated silently. Nothing at all, so he should just go to bed, sleep off his drunkenness. Maybe he'd get lucky and snooze through the worst of the hangover, too. So he should just go to bed.</p>
<p>He was still awake when the guard knocked on his door.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Arthur Puts on the Most Important Hat of his Life"</p>
<p>I'm not going to have internet tomorrow, so you can have the chapter a day early.</p>
<p>Next chapter: September 25. Not everyone is happy with Arthur's speech.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sarrum Troubles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merlin celebrates Arthur's coronation by joining a conspiracy, but not everyone is quite so happy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter V: Sarrum Troubles</p>
<p>Merlin felt like he should probably protest this, but… he'd heard the tales, too. No one deserved to languish in Sarrum's oubliette.</p>
<p>"It's too bad that we can't just conquer Amata," he sighed. "I could give it to, I don't know, Gwen or somebody." Alas, that course of action would send a very undesirable message to the other monarchs on the island: namely, that they ruled and <em>lived</em> only because the people of magic allowed it, and they could rescind that allowance at any moment. Something like that would probably… sour diplomatic relations.</p>
<p>Still, it was a nice thought, and one that he was a bit too sad to set aside.</p>
<p>"I do think, though," he continued, pushing away his thoughts, "that we should try to make it… not very obvious that we were the ones to destroy Sarrum's hellhole. Plausible deniability for political reasons, and all that. We're trying to make people less frightened of us."</p>
<p>"Maybe," Morgana said. "We discussed that but haven't decided. Morgause suggested you take a leaf from Sigan's book and create an earthquake. The prison is underground. In theory, nobody would bother excavating to recover their remains."</p>
<p>"What about the guards' remains?" Because the guards would be down there too, Merlin realized. Torturers.</p>
<p>"Sarrum won't care about excavating them either," Morgause pointed out.</p>
<p>"I know that, but they might have families who <em>do</em>." Possibly. Merlin wasn't too certain what kind of person would marry a torturer, but the children, at least, would be innocent.</p>
<p>"Would it be too implausible if there was a fire and then there was an earthquake?" Morgana wondered. "The guards run from the fire, then everything collapses." She made a vague wiggling gesture with her fingers.</p>
<p>Morgause was frowning at them. "They're torturers, or at the very least complicit in torture. Why do you care so much about keeping them alive?"</p>
<p>Merlin and Morgana looked at one another, not certain how to respond. "Well," Merlin finally mumbled, feeling rather inadequate, "it's probably better to not kill people all willy-nilly."</p>
<p>(A night of fog and terror, lightning at his fingertips and the corpses of innocents and the corpses of their attackers.)</p>
<p>"They aren't just people, though," the sorceress pointed out. "They're our enemies, and they aren't going to suddenly become good people just because they're out of victims to torture. They'll probably go out and find more innocents to hurt." There was something dark and heavy in her eyes, something like experience, augmented by the slaughter on the Isle but older in origin. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered what it had been like, growing up as Nimueh's ward, reminded every day of the atrocities committed against their people. It couldn't have been pleasant.</p>
<p>"Still," said Morgana, "killing people is the fastest way of making their families hate us, and I'm honestly not certain if it's even possible to keep the public from learning what we did."</p>
<p>"Really?" Merlin interjected, startled.</p>
<p>"Someone will notice the prisoners, realize that they <em>were</em> prisoners, and figure out that the convenient earthquake might not have been a coincidence."</p>
<p>"Not if we move them and their families, which they'll want to do anyways. Why would any of them choose to stay in Amata?"</p>
<p>"That would be noticed too, Morgause, all the families of Sarrum's prisoners suddenly leaving at once."</p>
<p>"What about sleep spells?" Merlin interrupted, nipping the argument in the bud. "A <em>peaceful</em> display of power." He quite liked the sound of that.</p>
<p>Morgause grimaced, long years of life-or-death secrecy warring against the others' points. Finally she nodded. "Sleep spells it is, then."</p>
<hr/>
<p>This wasn't supposed to happen.</p>
<p>Yes, Arthur had known that his decision to change the Purge's death penalty to a slap on the wrist, his near-admission that he intended to restore magic, would meet opposition. He wasn't a bloody idiot, thank you very much, <em>Merlin</em>. But he'd expected the opposition to manifest mostly as recalcitrant lords in drawn-out council meetings, in 'misplaced' paperwork and far-off peasants continuing to burn accused spellbinders.</p>
<p>He hadn't expected another gods-damned riot to begin the night of his coronation.</p>
<p>The prince—king, he was a king now—didn't understand, and not just because alcohol still hazed his thoughts (though thankfully not his tongue). They'd been so happy this afternoon, cheering and hailing him as their king. They'd been <em>glad</em> that the guards could no longer murder them and their families with impunity. And now, this.</p>
<p>"Sire," began Captain Brun, "you can't—"</p>
<p>"I can and I will. If this is a response to my actions, then the people need to see that I want to listen to them." They'd reached the stables, where a couple of his closely allied knights (he was thinking of making them their own elite order. Hopefully that would shut up all those pointed, not-at-all-quiet mutters about upjumped peasants) were already saddling the horses. Arthur strode towards his, mounted in a motion more clumsy than usual. His head spun. Gods, if he'd known about the blasted riot, he wouldn't have drunk so much. "Where's the worst of it?"</p>
<p>Brun dithered and dallied and was eventually forced to admit that he didn't know, but that some of the earliest reports had come from near the northern gate of the citadel.</p>
<p>"Send out the guard," Arthur ordered. "They are not to arrest anyone except people actively engaged in violence, and even then, they're to at least try to stop things peacefully. Have them spread the word that I will be glad to discuss my people's concerns tomorrow, but they need to not hurt anyone or set things on fire. It's their taxes that go towards repairing this citadel, you know. And have the rest of my knights—you know, the ones who went to Gawant—meet me at the castle's northern exit."</p>
<p>Brun didn't look happy about it, but he bobbed in a quick bow before darting off, presumably to relay Arthur's orders.</p>
<p>The last knight, Gwaine, had just arrived, when Elyan hissed a warning. Arthur suppressed a groan as he halted his horse. "Yes, King Sarrum?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as irritated as he felt.</p>
<p>"This chaos is your fault," the other king informed him. How nice of him to be so forthright. "Yours, and that sorcerer's. This is what happens when magic has free reign."</p>
<p>"Magic remains illegal, Your Majesty," he pointed out. A dull ache pulsed through his head.</p>
<p>A sneer. "But not for long. You don't deserve your father's name, boy, his name or this throne."</p>
<p>"Is that a threat?" demanded Gwaine.</p>
<p>Sarrum's answering expression could charitably be called a smile. "A promise, peasant. Amata will not stand for this."</p>
<p>"And Camelot will no longer stand for the unwarranted murder of its citizens," Arthur retorted. "We can discuss this in the morning, King Sarrum, but right now, my people need me. Step aside."</p>
<p>For a few moments, he thought that the older king wouldn't do it. He thought that he'd have to command his knights to ride through or around Sarrum and his guards, force their way into the city proper. Then Sarrum's smile took on a mocking edge. He stepped aside, made a little shooing gesture. "Your kingdom awaits, Arthur Pendragon."</p>
<p>As he and his men rode forth, it occurred to Arthur that it might not be the best decision to let Sarrum return to Amata, where he could muster his troops to march against Camelot. Then again, he probably shouldn't start his reign by taking another king hostage. Something of a bad message, that. He'd have to think about it.</p>
<p>For now, though, he had a riot to deal with.</p>
<p>"Sooo," said Gwaine, his tone a little too light, "who wants some of my emergency sobriety juice?"</p>
<p>"Your what?" Leon groused.</p>
<p>"Does it actually work?" Lancelot inquired.</p>
<p>"Yep." Gwaine handed the other knight a flask. "Just one mouthful, and swallow it down fast. It's vile."</p>
<p>Since they'd all drunk a little too much, Arthur and the knights passed the flask around, each downing one swallow of the truly horrendous brew. By the time they reached their destination, it was starting to take effect. The fog in Arthur's brain had lightened significantly, it was easier to keep his balance atop his horse, and his headache was receding. Gwaine could have made a fortune off the stuff if it didn't taste like unwashed armpit.</p>
<p>Nothing was on fire, thank all the gods for that, at least not in this part of the city. From what Arthur understood, there were several little pockets of violence where citizens had begun to fight. In this particular location (and probably several others), he would guess that the violence had started in the tavern on the corner and spread into the streets.</p>
<p>Arthur nodded to Leon, who nodded and stuck two fingers into his mouth. His whistle shrilled through the night air, startling a few of the combatants into looking up. Three fled immediately upon seeing armed, mounted knights. One woman recognized her king and dropped to her knees.</p>
<p>"HALT!" the king bellowed. Leon punctuated it with another whistle. This time, everyone stopped except one particularly angry pair who were scuffling in the dirt. Lancelot and Gwaine hurried over to separate them.</p>
<p>"I will be more than happy to speak with you tomorrow," Arthur bellowed, projecting his voice just like he'd been taught. "I know that the changes I intend to make are frightening, and—"</p>
<p>Someone hurtled a rock at him, the stone grazing his arm. It barely hurt, startling him more than anything, but… one of his citizens had <em>thrown a rock at him</em>.</p>
<p>Perhaps they hadn't recognized him? It was dark out, and lots of people from outside of the citadel had come with their lords, who had been invited for a council meeting and ended up attending a funeral. There were plenty of reasons that this man might not have known who he was, because the alternative was that he hated Arthur enough to attack him right in front of these knights, and that was unthinkable.</p>
<p>Two more rioters fled.</p>
<p>Arthur gathered himself. "Look, there's no need for violence. I will listen to you if you come to me, though you might not change my mind. All I ask is that—"</p>
<p>Another rock. This one was bigger, a bit more painful.</p>
<p>"Stop that," Percival growled, voice low and dangerous, glaring at the shadows.</p>
<p>"That's <em>King Arthur</em>, you idiot," the kneeling woman hissed. The rock thrower blanched. He went to his knees, which Arthur chose to interpret as respect and repentance but might have just been his legs giving out.</p>
<p>The new king soldiered on. "All I ask is that you do no harm to my people."</p>
<p>"<em>You're</em> doing harm to our people," spat the man Gwaine was restraining.</p>
<p>"No he's not," snarled the man Lancelot was holding back. "Do you want the guards to go back to murdering whoever they want?"</p>
<p>"There's a difference between that and giving <em>sorcerers</em> free reign!"</p>
<p>Lancelot's man lunged, almost escaping the knight's grasp. "He's not doing that, you idiot, he's—"</p>
<p>"Open your eyes, you fool, one of the bastards <em>owns</em>—"</p>
<p>"King Arthur is his own man!"</p>
<p>"<em>Enough</em>," Arthur interrupted, striding between them. "No one owns me, no one is clouding my mind with sorcery, and no one ever will." Merlin had seen to that, had forced Morgause to see sense when she'd wanted to control royal minds. This fellow, though, didn't need to know that discarded idea. "I am acting according to my own conscience for the good of my kingdom."</p>
<p>"That's what anyone would say if they'd been enchanted," Gwaine's man muttered.</p>
<p>"Would an enchanted man tell you that Merlin's an idiot and I once saw him walk straight into the stable wall?"</p>
<p>Gwaine's captive blinked at him, his mouth slightly ajar.</p>
<p>"It's true," Arthur said, warming to his subject. "He was aiming for the door but got distracted when a horse snorted at him. Walked straight into the wall, jumped backwards like it had leapt forward and attacked him, would have fallen flat on his rear if the stable master hadn't caught him. Another time I caught him trying to clean Gaius's leech tank with a sponge on a wooden sword he'd filched from the training grounds. He heard me come in, thought I was Gaius, and tried to throw it across the room, but it had leeches on it and they went flying <em>everywhere</em>."</p>
<p>Gwaine chortled. The other knights remained silent, if not straight-faced. The remaining peasants around them, who had never met Merlin, stared at their king with varying degrees of bafflement and disbelief.</p>
<p>"My point is that if I was under his control, he'd probably make me try to portray him as a dignified, ultra-competent genius rather than the lucky, stubborn dunce he actually is."</p>
<p>"He does have a point," agreed one of the few bystanders/former brawlers who had not used Arthur's inadvertent distraction to flee the armed law enforcement. "And didn't that sorcerer work as his <em>servant</em>, too?"</p>
<p>Gwaine's captive glowered but didn't answer the question. Instead, he met Arthur's gaze, fear and frustration in his eyes. "Your Majesty, if you do this, you will destroy the kingdom."</p>
<p>"It will not. Soon, you'll see."</p>
<p>He hoped.</p>
<p>Perhaps Camelot trusted Arthur more than he'd thought. Perhaps they were simply exhausted after the last few months of Uther's reign. For whatever reason, all the outbreaks of violence that Arthur and his knights encountered were like the first: overgrown brawls where peasants, usually at least a little drunk, got into disagreements about whether or not Arthur would doom Camelot. Many thought that returning magic (because everybody in the entire citadel had his intentions by now. Maybe he <em>should</em> have hidden them better.) would kill them all. Blighted fields, mad sorcerers rampaging through the streets, armies of dragons roaming the countryside. Others believed that the spellbinders' takeover would be more subtle, that they would turn Arthur and his nobility into their puppets and rule the kingdom in the shadows. However the sorcerers took over, it would be terrible for everyone else.</p>
<p>But fights need at least two sides.</p>
<p>There were others among the smallfolk who disagreed with the first group. With words and fists, they defended their new king and his decisions. How could anyone argue that these last few weeks had been good for the kingdom? A war, reconstruction that lasted so much longer than it should have, fair trials done away with, guards allowed to kill anyone they wanted with impunity. Arthur had fought that madness, had protected them to the best of his ability, had stood up for the people against his own father. Hadn't he earned their trust?</p>
<p>Yes, the king obviously intended to restore magic, and maybe some of them weren't comfortable with that, but….</p>
<p>Camelot had survived for hundreds of years before the Purge had 'saved' it. There were old tales of healers, of hedge charms against insects and rats, of Court Sorcerers riding out against rogue magical beasts. And there were newer stories, too, of druids and others defying the law to render aid to those in need, of Queen Ygraine's death, of a warlock who'd fought a wraith and Cornelius Sigan himself to protect Arthur Pendragon and all of Camelot.</p>
<p>And what of Lady Morgana? She was apparently a witch, and she'd helped them too. She'd been helping them for years, practically since girlhood. She had never given them any reason to suspect that she might secretly be evil.</p>
<p>Then, too, the older folk had all known other spellbinders back before the Purge—not necessarily well, but well enough to remember that they hadn't needed to be afraid.</p>
<p>Magic's return was not necessarily something to be feared.</p>
<p>Oh, they all acknowledged that Camelot before the Purge hadn't been perfect. There had been problems with rogues, with rebels, with criminals who used magic to augment their crimes. There had also been balances against them, and for the most part, the system had worked without too many issues. It could have been improved, but it had… it had been better then.</p>
<p>(They would never have dared speak that out loud just a few days ago. Spellbinders weren't the only ones who had needed to fear the old king. If nothing else, Arthur's ascension meant that they no longer had to worry about being cut down in the streets or thrown into the dungeons for appearing too sympathetic. That alone was enough to earn him the benefit of the doubt.)</p>
<p>Not everyone responded as well as the first group that Arthur and his knights encountered, especially as the night wore on and the citizenry got progressively drunker. One particularly belligerent woman actually <em>punched</em> him. Arthur was very, very tempted to throw her into the dungeons to sober up, but the other folk were watching him with waiting eyes. They would remember if he started his reign with imprisonment, even if he'd been provoked. Instead, he ordered Percival to bring her home whether she wanted to or not (she didn't, but that hardly slowed the huge knight down).</p>
<p>It was nearing dawn when Arthur judged that they had done enough. Also, he was beginning to droop on his horse; the vigil, funeral, and coronation had taken more out of him than he wanted to let on, and he would need to stay awake for his audience tomorrow. No, wait, today. The audience was <em>today</em>.</p>
<p>The guards could handle the rest of it. Honestly, Arthur probably could have gone back earlier, or just given orders and been done with it, but… that wasn't the kind of king he wanted to be. He'd pledged to protect and serve <em>all</em> his people, and that was not an oath he'd made lightly.</p>
<p>Still, as Leon had quietly pointed out, he was only human. He couldn't be everywhere at once, couldn't put out every little fire. That was why he had subordinates in the first place. And, yes, the guards' reputation had been tarnished these last few months, but they had to start rebuilding trust somehow. So, when Arthur returned to the castle, he told the highest-ranking guard in his immediate vicinity to keep things as peaceful as possible before he trudged off to bed.</p>
<p>Arthur slipped into his night shirt, then slid under the covers. Oh, it felt good to lie down. It would be good to sleep, too, to close his eyes and drift away and—</p>
<p>A knock, soft and tentative. Arthur groaned softly and contemplated just not answering it, but they wouldn't disturb him without good reason. So he only let himself remain abed for a few seconds before climbing out, trudging to the door, and grumpily opening it.</p>
<p>It was Brun. Wonderful, just bloody wonderful. He could already tell that this was going to be terrible.</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>Brun swallowed hard. "I have news for you, Your Majesty."</p>
<p>"Yes, obviously," Arthur sighed. "What is it?"</p>
<p>The captain winced. "Your Majesty, it is about King Sarrum and the Amatans."</p>
<p>"What about them?" he demanded.</p>
<p>"They left, King Arthur. Their entire party is gone."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Sarrum is Clearly Planning Trouble, but Trouble is Being Planned for him, too, so it all Sort of Evens Out (but Not Really)"</p>
<p>I wrote the first part of this back in November, before BLM got so big. Reading it now for last-minute corrections is... kind of strange. Also kind of wish fulfillment-y.</p>
<p>To everyone who reviewed last chapter, I'm sorry for replying so late. I'm absolutely terrible at communication, so now I'm going to try something new. I'm giving myself a set day to reply, so expect some PMs on Wednesday. Hopefully this will force me to actually, you know, answer the lovely people who write such lovely things to me.</p>
<p>Next chapter: October 16. Hunith is a human steamroller and Geoffrey fights prejudice with the greatest, most powerful weapon of all: statistics.</p>
<p>-Antares</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Another Purpose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hunith and statistics. What more could you ask for?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter VI: Another Purpose</p>
<p>"Is something wrong, Gwen?"</p>
<p>The former maid startled slightly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "No, nothing."</p>
<p>Hunith arched a brow in a gesture she'd learned from her uncle. Like her son, she was too bloody perceptive.</p>
<p>Gwen winced. "It's… silly, honestly. Not at all important, especially when there's so much to do making Listeneise habitable again." Another wince, because that was the problem, wasn't it? There <em>was</em> so much to do, so many important things in so many places with so many people, and Gwen… Gwen was here in the middle of an isolated refugee camp following Hunith around like a duckling, not really doing anything except talking to people and occasionally assisting with some minor logistical problem. "Really, it's nothing."</p>
<p>"Obviously not, or it wouldn't be upsetting you. Are you worried about what's happening back in Camelot? Because we can find someone who will scry Arthur or your brother."</p>
<p>"That's not—well, I am worried, of course, because they're going to be facing all sorts of challenges and there's probably all sorts of people already plotting against them. I'll ask someone to scry tonight. Merlin and Morgana are worried too."</p>
<p>"But that's not it."</p>
<p>Hunith was stubborn. She'd had to be in order to raise <em>Merlin</em> to adulthood without the reckless warlock getting himself killed. She smiled blandly at Gwen, but her eyes were steel. Clearly, the Lady of the Isle wasn't going to let it go.</p>
<p>Gwen sighed heavily and decided to get it over with so they could move on with their lives. "Like I said, it's silly. It's just that—well, I'm not much use to anyone right now, am I? You and your family are trying to keep this group from falling apart. Morgana and Morgause are working on that scheme to rescue Sarrum's prisoners. Arthur is trying to undo the Purge without starting any wars, and Elyan and the other knights are watching his back. Meanwhile, I'm here. No magic, no political power, no special skill with the sword or any other weapon. I can't even help Dad with metalworking because he's managed to find a couple of journeymen and that so-called forge they're using can only fit so many people. And I know that there's no dishonor or shame in the little things that keep us going, the food-gathering and the tentmaking and all that, but there's so many people doing those things already." She glanced away, embarrassed at the depth of the emotions leaking into her voice. "I just feel like I ought to be doing more, that's all."</p>
<p>(She was supposed to become the People's Queen, and here she was, utterly useless to everyone when there was <em>so much</em> to be done.)</p>
<p>Hunith tilted her head, expression thoughtful. "You're hardly sitting around doing nothing, you know. You've been watching, helping, Balinor and me lead. Getting experience."</p>
<p>"I know," Gwen admitted. "I told you it was silly."</p>
<p>Hunith waved a dismissive hand. "I never said <em>that</em>, Gwen. If you think you can and should be doing more, let's try to figure out what else you can do and how you can do it."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"You're right that there's a lot to be done. So let's start figuring out the best use of your talents."</p>
<p>Gwen almost mentioned that beating metal and embroidering dresses, while useful in their own way, were not exactly applicable to international magical politics. "Well, the people of the Isle need a safe space to live, at least until Arthur formally legalizes magic."</p>
<p>"Merlin is taking care of that, and Balinor and I are keeping everyone from getting restive."</p>
<p>"Arthur is doing all sorts of things back in Camelot, but Merlin, Morgana, and I decided that I would probably be a liability if I tried going back."</p>
<p>"Probably," Hunith admitted grudgingly. "So, can you think of anything that needs to be done outside of Camelot proper? Other than what's going here, I mean."</p>
<p>Gwen went silent, thinking. She stayed silent for a long time.</p>
<p>When she finally spoke, her voice was hesitant. "There are a few things. Arthur needs to rewrite something like a dozen treaties with various kingdoms so that they don't all go to war against him, and I know he wants to hold some kind of grand meeting this spring, but some monarchs might need more convincing. That's probably a job better suited to the nobility, though. Then there are the people of Camelot—the kingdom, that is, not the city. They could probably do with hearing about Arthur's plans from someone who can explain the reasoning behind them."</p>
<p>Hunith was nodding. "Ambassadors to his own subjects and to the other kingdoms. I think you'd do well in either of those positions, Gwen. You're good with people."</p>
<p>"I might do well enough among the peasantry, but can you imagine how insulted the other royalty would be if a <em>serving girl</em> claimed to be Arthur's ambassador?" The mere thought of it made her want to simultaneously laugh and wince. "It might do more harm than good."</p>
<p>"But you're not just a serving girl anymore," the older woman pointed out. "Your brother is a knight, which makes you a lady, and one day you'll be queen." (It did not surprise Gwen that Hunith knew about that.) And… I think that royal courts would be safer for you than wandering the countryside. Bandits get more desperate in autumn and winter, and… after everything I've heard about the unrest in Camelot, I'm worried that an angry mob of peasants might just decide to burn you at the stake." There was a certain breed of tightness around her eyes that told Gwen that this was an old nightmare. Hunith's son had been magical since the day of his birth, and their neighbors had been a more immediate threat than far-off kings.</p>
<p>(Not for the first time, Gwen wondered how Merlin and Hunith were still such kind, lovely people after all that fear.)</p>
<p>"I'm not sure if the courts would see me that way, though."</p>
<p>Hunith grinned. "Who says they need to know? Introduce yourself as Lady Guinevere, daughter of the man who helped save Camelot, sister of one of King Arthur's most trusted knights, a close personal friend of the king and of Lady Morgana. Throw Sir Leon's name in there too, if you want. Let them decide that you're a lady, let them get used to treating you like one, then, if you need to, casually let slip that you were born a peasant."</p>
<p>Gwen's lips twitched. "But still, I'm not certain if I could pass myself off as a proper noblewoman."</p>
<p>"You'll certainly do better than I am," Hunith responded dryly. "You grew up in a lord's household and have been serving a lady for years. You know how the court of Camelot works. Now, before you come up with another objection, answer me this: are there any better candidates for the job?"</p>
<p>"Of course. Sir Leon's parents—"</p>
<p>"—will be needed to support Arthur in Camelot."</p>
<p>"Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth—"</p>
<p>"—is a bit too old for extensive travel, and will almost certainly have tasks of his own. I suspect that Arthur has him looking up the old laws about magic, finding loopholes in treaties, things like that."</p>
<p>"Morgana—"</p>
<p>"—is a known witch who can't legally set foot in the courts, much less act as an ambassador."</p>
<p>"Um." Gwen thought hard, mentally listing every noble she could remember. She didn't know most of them well enough to say whether or not they'd support magic strongly enough to advocate for it in foreign lands. "Arthur has an uncle, I think."</p>
<p>Hunith blinked. "You mean other than that wraith?"</p>
<p>"Yes. His name's Agravaine. He spends most of his time in the du Bois lands, but he went to Camelot for Arthur's knighting."</p>
<p>"I didn't know that," Hunith admitted. "What's he like?"</p>
<p>Gwen was forced to admit that she had no idea whatsoever.</p>
<p>"So he's a wild card," the older woman mused. She considered it for a moment, then decided, "I think that if he supports Arthur, then he would be better used in the citadel. The Purge started over Queen Ygraine's death. If her sole surviving brother is visibly helping to end it, that's one less angle for the opposition."</p>
<p>"That makes sense," Gwen agreed, "and if he isn't on our side, then it might be better to keep an eye on him instead of letting him stir up opposition."</p>
<p>"So it's settled," the Lady of the Isle decreed, clasping her hands in a very satisfied manner.</p>
<p>"No it's not! I can't just—walk into some random court claiming to be a representative of Camelot."</p>
<p>"Well, obviously. You'll need a retinue, a budget, and at least one letter of introduction. Hm. And horses."</p>
<p>"That's not what I—"</p>
<p>Hunith utterly ignored her protests. "Balinor and I could probably find you a guard or two from among our people, but you might need a few more attendants. Do you have any way of contacting your smuggler friends?"</p>
<p>"You mean Tristan and Isolde?"</p>
<p>"Yes, them. I suspect they'd be excellent backup in case you needed to suddenly flee the court. Not that I think you will, of course, but it's always better to be safe. So those two, if we can convince them, plus two or three from here, plus… I ought to ask Balinor how many people are in a proper ambassadorial party. Let's try to get everything sorted out by supper. Then we can bring you to Camelot, get you that letter of introduction, make everything all official." Hunith was flat-out beaming. "This will be excellent!"</p>
<p>"But," began Gwen, then fell silent.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you agree. We'll see you this evening, then."</p>
<p>"All right," Gwen agreed faintly, and wondered what the <em>hell</em> she'd gotten herself into.</p>
<hr/>
<p>This had seemed like a good idea last night. Now, though, Arthur found himself wondering what the <em>hell</em> he'd been thinking.</p>
<p>It had started out well enough. Almost thirty people—man and woman, commoner and noble, young and old alike—had worked up enough courage to talk, while dozens more had crammed into the courtyard to listen. (Thankfully it was a sunny day. He didn't want to think about how much worse this would be if it were raining. Then again, maybe the most belligerent folk wouldn't have turned up had the weather been less pleasant.) The people had begun to voice their concerns, nervously at first, then with increasing confidence when he did not have them immediately beheaded for disagreeing with him. Alas, it had quickly degenerated into a shouting match.</p>
<p>Arthur sighed heavily. He was beginning to understand why his father had been so fond of ruling with an iron fist.</p>
<p>"Leon, if you would?"</p>
<p>The knight shrilled his piercing whistle again, cutting through the sound of shouting. The people nearest to him covered their ears, which Arthur supposed was one way of silencing them.</p>
<p>"We are here to discuss my plans, not to yell at one another like drunkards. You." Arthur pointed at a startled lordling. (Gorsedd? Gwalter?) "You were speaking before the shouting began. What do you have to say?"</p>
<p>The lordling (...Gilvaethwy? Definitely something that started with a G) puffed up indignantly. "I was saying, Your Majesty, that the sorcerers are hardly innocent victims in this. My family's lands were next to those of a family of Caerleoni dragonlords who raided us constantly for over a hundred years before your royal father put an end to their line, and my own father died delivering justice to magical bandits. They are our enemies, and King Uther was wise to destroy their power."</p>
<p>"Are you sure they weren't just being Caerleoni?" burst out a merchant. (What if he was the one whose name started with G and the other was actually called Rhett or something? Gods, he needed more sleep. He was usually so much better with names.)</p>
<p>"Perhaps they were, but explain the bandits," the lordling challenged.</p>
<p>"Easy," boasted the merchant. "The ones who're born with magic don't have anywhere to go. At least the bandits won't burn them at the stake."</p>
<p>Arthur couldn't have asked for a better opening. "Sir Geoffrey, do you have those statistics I asked you to bring?"</p>
<p>"Of course, sire." The old man shuffled through his notes. "Here we are. The year that King Uther took the throne, there were one hundred seventy-eight incidents of banditry, most of which were carried out by the remnants of Vortigern's army. King Uther immediately took up arms against them in the interest of securing his kingdom. The following year, only ninety-eight incidents were reported, with fifty-one in the third year and thirty-nine in the fourth. The year before the Purge began, there were twenty-eight incidents, mostly from small bands attacking individual travelers or groups of less than five."</p>
<p>"What does this have to do with anything?" the lordling demanded.</p>
<p>"I'm getting there, my lord." Geoffrey cleared his throat. "The year after the Purge, there were eighty-four reports of organized banditry. The year after that, one hundred seventy-seven, almost as bad as when Vortigern was ousted. Since then, not a single year has passed without at least two hundred incidents, and in the last decade, there have been seventeen villages completely destroyed by bandit raids." He shuddered. So did Percival and Lancelot, who hailed from two of those villages.</p>
<p>"Because the sorcerers have dropped all pretenses," the lordling decided.</p>
<p>"Yes, there have been cases where spellbinders used their magic to rob others, and that has undoubtedly been partly responsible for the rise in attacks. However, while I going through the reports to compile these statistics, I noticed something odd." He paused, letting the tension and curiosity gather, before proclaiming, "For the most part, bandit attacks have been entirely nonmagical."</p>
<p>The lordling puffed up like a bird being threatened. "And what exactly are you implying, Sir Geoffrey?"</p>
<p>The old man met his gaze calmly. "In the first five years of the Purge, most bandit attacks had at least one spellbinder fighting with magic. King Uther had these highwaymen hunted down and executed <em>not</em> for banditry, but for harboring sorcerers. He focused the kingdom's resources on hunting spellbinders rather than bandits, so the robbers learned very quickly that they were much less likely to be brought to justice if no one knew that they had magic on their side. In the past six years, only one bandit group was known to consistently use magic in combat, and they ceased their activity several months ago."</p>
<p>The lordling sneered. "If they don't have magic, then why have these criminals become so much more pestilent? You can hardly make it to the borders of the kingdom without being attacked."</p>
<p>"Two reasons, my lord. First, I never said that bandits didn't harbor spellbinders, just that they don't use magic in battle. Well, not obvious magic. I suspect that quite a few have magically strengthened swords and armor, providing them with a distinct advantage over unenchanted steel. For the most part, they appear to use magic in other ways: enchanting items, hiding the camp, scrying for victims, keeping fires lit, cleaning and healing wounds. As long as no one reports that they have a spellbinder in their camp, they remain relatively safe, because of the second reason that so many bandits plague our land. Uther focused his efforts on spellbinders <em>instead of</em> on bandits, and without anyone to keep them in check, they have flourished." He tapped his papers. "I have the exact budgetary allotments and several decrees right here, if you would like to see the specific numbers."</p>
<p>"That can't be right," the lordling muttered, leaping for Geoffrey's notes.</p>
<p>"It is," Arthur sighed. "I've experienced it myself. A few months ago, my father sent me to Tintagel. I was attacked by bandits on the way there, but a group of spellbinders appeared to help my men drive them off." He grimaced. "We arrived at the castle shortly after that unpleasantness, and Lord Cador's immediate impulse was to send men after the sorcerers who had helped us rather than the bandits who had tried to kill us all. <em>That</em> was when I began to suspect why Camelot had a bandit problem, which is why I asked Sir Geoffrey to research it. His findings have only supported my theory."</p>
<p>There was murmuring all around. An older woman stepped forward and announced, "That squares with what we've seen, right, Yorath?" An equally venerable man nodded. "Yorath and I have been trading up and down the island for almost forty years, and the bandits have never been so bad as they are now. Do you know how many guards we need just to get to Essetir? Too many, that's how much."</p>
<p>Her husband added, "And we've still been attacked once or twice, even with guards." He pressed a finger against the huge pink scar that ran all the way down his face. "Bastards nearly took my eye out on the road to Mercia, and then we had to go all the way to the capital for a halfway decent healer."</p>
<p>"He almost died," his wife said flatly, "but he took a similar wound while fighting against Vortigern, and that one didn't even leave a scar. Do you and Sir Geoffrey have any numbers about healers, Your Majesty?"</p>
<p>Arthur fought down a grin. "We do, goodwife. Sir Geoffrey?"</p>
<p>The old knight went to another, smaller stack of paper. "It was harder to find these statistics, since the existence of healers is not reported to the Crown in the same way that bandit attacks are, but prior to the Purge, the village hedgewitch would frequently act as the local healer and midwife. They and their apprentices were some of the first to burn." He sighed heavily. "We had half-a-dozen physicians in this city before the Purge began, not all of whom were magical, but four were killed and the fifth fled for her life, leaving only Gaius. He served alone for almost twenty years before his great-nephew Merlin came to become his apprentice. You probably know that neither of them is here anymore."</p>
<p>"There are still people with medical knowledge, though, even if they aren't official physicians." The lordling whose name probably started with G was grasping at straws.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes. There are individuals with some knowledge of setting bones, of a few basic remedies, and of course every village has a grandmother who can help with childbirth. But Gaius was the most skilled by far, and anyone who came close to approaching him either was killed or went into hiding."</p>
<p>"My aunt was a healer," announced a peasant woman. "She had to leave for—I don't even know where—when I was a girl. She didn't have magic, just some herb-lore, but it was enough to damn her."</p>
<p>"My neighbor used to fix up my son's bruises before he was burned," another woman reminisced. "He couldn't do anything bigger, but it was enough for the little scrapes that boys get into."</p>
<p>"<em>My</em> neighbor used to curse me," a man interrupted. "He had this stupid spell that made bugs follow you around and bite you that he'd whip out whenever he got too offended." But then he smiled, soft and fond and sad. "But he'd only keep it up for two, three hours or so before he started feeling guilty, and then he'd come around with an itching salve. He burned on the Day of Pyres. His wife, too. They were both healers."</p>
<p>Something panged in Arthur's chest. He found himself thinking that Merlin probably would have grown up doing things like that if he'd grown up in a safer world.</p>
<p>Maybe, if Arthur played his cards right, Merlin's little sister could grow up using her magic (he somehow didn't doubt that Ganieda would be a witch) for silly little pranks.</p>
<p>Gods, he hoped so.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote about Bug Curse Guy and then immediately decided that he was Edwin Muirden's dad.</p>
<p>The G lordling's name is actually Tomos. Arthur... well, he tried.</p>
<p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Numbers are the Most Powerful Weapon of All (Except for Hunith)"</p>
<p>Next chapter: November 6. Merlin develops a theory.</p>
<p>My goal for NaNo this year is to FINALLY get through my writer's block on Chapter 12, where I have been stuck for months, write up to at least Chapter 20, and get back to The Pilgrim's Progress. Wish me luck!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Like an Open Wound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Don't worry, it's less terrifying than the chapter title suggests. Nobody dies.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter VII: Like an Open Wound</p>
<p>Today was a bad day.</p>
<p>Merlin had learned over the last few weeks that his connection to Listeneise was a mixed blessing. On good days, the land felt strong and healthy, and it soaked up the healing he poured into it like dried peat absorbing water. The restoration worked, the land gave to him of its own stone-and-water strength, and they were both better off for it.</p>
<p>On bad days, the Dark Tower sucked at them both like the leech that it was. If Merlin tried to purify the soil or cleanse the water or anything else, the energy he donated would flow towards the Tower. Even worse, it would steal from land and warden alike even if they weren't trying to do anything. It drained Merlin like—like—like the still-unhealed wound on his belly, he decided, lying there on his bedroll trying to summon enough energy to get up.</p>
<p>…Actually, come to think of it, that was probably why the blasted thing was still bothering him. The Fisher King's wound had allowed the destruction of the land, which had enabled some ancient High Priestess to create the Dark Tower. Now the new bond-holder was injured, too, just like his predecessor and the land itself.</p>
<p>Merlin groaned into the rolled-up cloak he'd been using as a pillow. "Well, I guess that makes my decision for me."</p>
<p>If he took out the Dark Tower now, he'd probably be utterly useless for a day or two. If he didn't, he'd remain partly useless until he did.</p>
<p>"Should've done this right away," the warlock muttered. He rolled from his side to his back, tried to sit up. His wound throbbed.</p>
<p>It took Merlin three tries to get up. He shuffled through the Gedref version of his morning routine without paying much attention, using Beothaich as a cane, too deep in thought to notice much of what he was doing. He really just wanted to go to back to sleep until the blasted stab wound and the even more blasted Dark Tower stopped bothering him, but that wasn't going to happen unless he forced the issue. So force the issue he would.</p>
<p>"Hi, Gaius. Do you have any of that one potion that dulls pain without making me yawn all the time? Also, do you know where Morgause is?"</p>
<p>The physician startled slightly. He must have been lost in thought again. "Good morning to you too, Merlin."</p>
<p>"No such thing," the warlock muttered.</p>
<p>His great-uncle's lips quirked. "I do, in fact, have some of that potion. I just finished a fresh batch last night. Have you tried visiting the unicorns again?"</p>
<p>"No," Merlin sighed. "If they couldn't fix me up completely the last couple times, they can't do it now, either. I think that it's related to the Dark Tower, which is why I need to talk to Morgause. Maybe Kilgharrah, too, but I think that if a High Priestess built the vile thing, another High Priestess could give me some pointers on tearing it down. Hopefully."</p>
<p>A frown. "Are you certain you should be doing that <em>now</em>, Merlin? You <em>do</em> remember what happened last time you meddled with the magic of Listeniese?" He poured something thick and vile into a small, chipped cup, passed the concoction to Merlin.</p>
<p>The warlock chugged it as quickly as he could. "Yes, I passed out for far too long, then came back to the Isle and passed out some more. But destroying the Dark Tower will probably only take me out for a couple of days, and then my wound will theoretically heal up, I'll get my full power back, and these awful days when I feel just… awful—don't look at me like that, I'm too tired to think of another word—will hopefully stop."</p>
<p>"That's quite a bit of supposition."</p>
<p>"But it's logical supposition, and Morgause will probably agree with me. Seriously, Gaius, <em>do</em> you know where she is?"</p>
<p>"Morgana mentioned that they were going to spend the day scrying Sarrum's pit. I suspect they're by the seaside—easier access to water that we don't have to reserve for drinking. Have you tried contacting her through thought-speech?"</p>
<p>"Not yet. Headache."</p>
<p>Gaius patted him on the shoulder, the sass gone from his gaze. "Would you like me to try?"</p>
<p>Normally, Merlin would deny the offer, but it was a bad day. "That would be wonderful. Thanks."</p>
<p>Gaius directed his thought-speech to Morgause alone, letting Merlin rest in silence, deliberately not listening in, while they conversed. "She and Morgana are at that little hook-shaped jut of land, you know the one?"</p>
<p>"The one by that rock that looks like a giant mouse?"</p>
<p>"Yes, that one. She'd be glad to speak with you."</p>
<p>"Great. I'd better be off, then. See you at lunch."</p>
<p>He felt a bit better as he made his way through the Labyrinth of Gedref, dodging the folk who had been crammed in here, occasionally weaving around a tent that hadn't yet been put away. Most of the people recognized him by this point; they nodded acknowledgement or, mortifyingly, gave little bows because far too many people were convinced that he was magical royalty. Which he most certainly was <em>not</em>, despite the whole thing where he'd succeeded the Fisher King as warden of Listeneise, the fact that his father was the last dragonlord, the prophecies about Emrys leading the people magic, and the recent revelation (thankfully one that was known only to a few people rather than the general public) that his biological grandmother had been a daughter of the Queen of the Sidhe.</p>
<p>Morgause, Morgana, and a few other spellbinders were gathered around a cluster of scrying bowls. Merlin recognized two friends of his, Gilli and Freya, as well as some other, more unexpected faces.</p>
<p>"Alator! It's good to see you. Are you going to be helping—no, <em>please</em> don't kneel, you know I hate that." Mercifully, the leader of the Catha (and most of the unfamiliar spellbinders, who Merlin thought might be his acolytes) rose to his feet immediately. "Thanks. Are you going to be helping with the raid on Amata, then?"</p>
<p>"Indeed." A scowl. "After what happened on the Isle, my order needs to do something for the good of our people."</p>
<p>"You <em>have</em> been working for the good of our people," Merlin chided him. "No one knew that Uther knew about the Isle, so there was no need for the Catha to maintain a defensive position there, and everyone agrees that the Catha have been doing an excellent job of protecting our people in the countryside."</p>
<p>"Still," Alator sighed, "I would rather have been there."</p>
<p>"We all have our regrets about that night," Merlin lamented. "But I'm glad you'll be there for the raid. You've probably got more battle experience than the rest of us put together. Say, do the Catha know anything about the Dark Tower?"</p>
<p>The older warlock blinked once, the only indicator of his confusion at the sudden subject change. "Only the basics, I'm afraid. Why?"</p>
<p>"It's draining him," Morgause explained, "and it might be keeping his stab wound open." Gaius must have given her the details.</p>
<p>"Lord Embries was stabbed?" squawked one of the junior Catha.</p>
<p>"Only slightly," Merlin assured him. (Morgana snorted in a most unladylike fashion.) "And I'm not a lord." (Morgana snorted again.) "The important thing is that I survived."</p>
<p>The young Catha couldn't exactly argue with that, so she nodded without losing her expression of alarm.</p>
<p>"The point," Morgause continued, ignoring the entire exchange, "is that Merlin and I need to talk about destroying the Dark Tower so that he can return to his full strength, preferably before our raid."</p>
<p>"Exactly," Merlin agreed. "Could we maybe go sit over there? Because I'd rather not distract the rest of you from your scrying."</p>
<p>The others assented, so Merlin and Morgause made their way over to the hedges. The warlock half-sat, half-crumpled onto the ground, fighting back a sigh of relief. No need to advertise that he sometimes had trouble standing too long.</p>
<p>He really, really needed to get rid of that blasted building.</p>
<p>"What do you know about the Dark Tower?" Morgause asked when they were situated.</p>
<p>"Not as much as I'd like to," Merlin sighed. "Apparently I'm prophesied to destroy it, and the Fisher King told me the basics of how to do that. I have to strike it from two directions at once, from the land and from my own reserves."</p>
<p>"That makes sense. Most records of its creation were lost when the Isle fell for the first time, but I know that it was meant to siphon off the latent energies of Listeneise for a variety of purposes."</p>
<p>"It's not just the mind control?"</p>
<p>"It is, but it was <em>supposed</em> to be more," Morgause elaborated. "There was going to be a way to power rituals and strengthen High Priestesses who sat vigil there, but the woman who made it died before she could do anything more than incorporate the mandrakes."</p>
<p>"Good," Merlin muttered. "It feels awful enough already. I'd rather not think about what it would be like if it were stronger."</p>
<p>"Will you need to know how to use it?" Morgause inquired.</p>
<p>"…I'm not actually certain." At times like this, Merlin remembered how little he knew about magical theory, how <em>much</em> there was to know. He'd gotten his first spellbook just over a year ago, and it wasn't quite a year since he'd met his tutor Blaise. His training had focused on learning spells, coming to understand the language, and a bit about herbs. He knew nothing of why magic worked the way it did, only what instinct told him.</p>
<p>Morgause, though, had grown up learning about magic. It wasn't all enviable knowledge—Merlin didn't particularly want to understand the finer working of mind control—but he couldn't help his jealousy of her education.</p>
<p>"I'd better tell you then," the sorceress decided.</p>
<p>What followed was an exceedingly detailed and technical description of the exact processes which would allow Merlin to break someone's will and reforge them according to his own dark desires. He had no idea what a good portion of the terms meant, though, so he had to keep interrupting to ask for clarification. By the time lunch rolled around, though, Merlin was fairly confident that he knew what to do. At the very least, what he had planned wouldn't kill him. Still, he ran it past Morgause as they walked towards their meal.</p>
<p>"I think that I ought to channel the me part of the spell through Beothaich."</p>
<p>"The 'me' part?"</p>
<p>"Me as in Merlin, not the Warden of Listeneise. The Fisher King said I had to be both. I figure that Beothaich was made for me—well, remade for me—has connections to all four elements, and draws a lot of its power from sources that the priestess who made the Dark Tower wasn't expecting."</p>
<p>Morgause nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would work. Spellbinders' staffs are powerful things. Nimueh once—" But here her face closed off. "What about the other portion of the spell?"</p>
<p>"That, I can channel through the land itself." Merlin hesitated, torn between offering comfort and asking if he could perhaps weave the streams together within his stave. The former impulse won out. "I'm sorry that…." That what? He wasn't sorry that he'd defended himself, Blaise, and Anhora when she had attacked them. He definitely wasn't sorry about foiling her schemes that would have produced enormous collateral damage. "…that things with her turned out the way they did." Well, that sounded utterly lame.</p>
<p>He was searching for something else to say, some way to unravel the tense knot between them, when Morgause (still blank-faced and monotone) suggested, "Perhaps you could use Beothaich to weave together the two portions of the spell. Unless there is some item already used to channel Listeneise's power?"</p>
<p>"Anfortas had a trident, but I'm not certain if that counts. I suppose I could check it, look around the keep for—oh no. <em>Oh no</em>."</p>
<p>"What?" demanded Morgause.</p>
<p>"I forgot to bury him!" Merlin exclaimed, appalled. "How the hell did I forget to bury him?"</p>
<p>"You were sleeping," she reminded him.</p>
<p>"I woke up, didn't I? And now he's just been sitting there for weeks, and it was summer by the sea, and I really need to bury him."</p>
<p>"Who are you burying?" Morgana asked, coming up behind them.</p>
<p>"Anfortas, the Fisher King," Merlin moaned. "I'm a terrible person who forgot to bury him."</p>
<p>"Weren't you practically comatose, though?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but then I woke up. I don't suppose either of you knows anything about the funerary customs of ancient Listeneise?"</p>
<p>They did not.</p>
<p>Merlin sighed heavily. "I'll have to think of something today, or maybe Wyrmbasu knows and can, I don't know, mime it out for me." The sisters exchanged doubtful looks. "And I need to finish my plans for the Dark Tower, maybe practice a little if I'm up to it, and I should probably figure out how to protect Arthur while I'm out of commission."</p>
<p>It was a bad day, physically speaking, but that didn't mean he had to waste it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur recognized his surroundings and fought back a groan. It had been a long day, and he really just wanted to sleep. But, he chided himself, there was a bright side to this as well. He'd missed Morgana, wanted to talk with her.</p>
<p>She'd known Uther too, the best and the worst of him. If anyone could understand, it was his sister.</p>
<p>So he turned to face her in this odd dream-world of hers. "Hello, Morgana."</p>
<p>"Arthur." There was something brittle in her smile. "I think I might have finally figured out how to come here on purpose."</p>
<p>"Really?" That would be incredibly useful.</p>
<p>"Either that, or I'm here by a complete coincidence. I'll have to try again tomorrow, see if the same things work then, too."</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" he asked her.</p>
<p>The brittleness increased. "I'm fine."</p>
<p>Arthur stared at her.</p>
<p>She flushed. "I <em>will be</em> fine. You?"</p>
<p>"I'm doing… well enough, I suppose."</p>
<p>Morgana sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there." Her fists tightened for a moment, knuckles whitening before she forced her grip to relax. "How is Camelot?"</p>
<p>"…As well as can be expected, or perhaps a bit better." But his tone was a bit too hearty, and his sister saw right through him. Now it was her turn to stare until Arthur sighed and caved. "There was unrest last night. A bunch of people got drunk, started arguing about whether magic coming back was a good thing, and then it escalated into citizens brawling in the streets. We got it under control before anyone got truly hurt, but when I returned to the castle, Sarrum and his retinue had left."</p>
<p>Morgana stiffened slightly. "Normally, I'd say it's a good thing that he's gone, but disappearing in the middle of the night? That doesn't bode well."</p>
<p>"It doesn't," Arthur groaned, "but I can't exactly send my guards to chase down a sovereign king who hasn't broken any laws. If rudeness were illegal, we'd run out of space in the dungeons."</p>
<p>"Did Sarrum say anything about adding security to his torture pit?"</p>
<p>"No, he did not. Do I want to know why you want to know?"</p>
<p>"The short version is that we're going to free his prisoners as soon as Merlin's recovered from destroying the Dark Tower."</p>
<p>Arthur closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What." It wasn't a question.</p>
<p>"We can't leave innocents to be tortured, Arthur, and the Dark Tower has been draining Merlin and keeping his stab wound from closing."</p>
<p>"Stab wound?" Arthur echoed, appalled.</p>
<p>Morgana groaned. "I see he hasn't actually mentioned that to you. I don't suppose he mentioned that we're courting, either."</p>
<p>"You're <em>what</em>?" her brother squawked.</p>
<p>"Courting," the witch repeated, confirming that Arthur had not misheard her.</p>
<p>Arthur spluttered.</p>
<p>"Speaking of significant others," Morgana continued, "Gwen was talking with Hunith earlier today, and they came up with an idea that you might be interested in."</p>
<p>"Oh, but I <em>wouldn't</em> be interested in you plotting a raid on an allied kingdom or my warlock getting stabbed?"</p>
<p>"No, you obviously are."</p>
<p>"Or that you and <em>Merlin</em> are courting!"</p>
<p>"Would you like to speak with Gwen?"</p>
<p>"Obviously. Merlin, too, so I can yell at him for getting himself stabbed."</p>
<p>Morgana rolled her eyes, then closed them. Her brows furrowed. Her breathing slowed, deepened. Then she opened her eyes just as they flared gold.</p>
<p>Then Guinevere was there, resplendent in Camelot red, a golden crown in her hair. Lovely as always, even with an expression of baffled surprise that quickly turned to realization. "Oh! Is this the dream world?"</p>
<p>"It is," Arthur confirmed, and hugged her as close as he could. It had been too long.</p>
<p>Morgana cleared her throat. Flushing, Arthur and Guinevere separated, though their hands remained entwined. "Morgana said something about a conversation with Hunith?"</p>
<p>Guinevere grimaced. "I wouldn't call it a conversation, exactly, as much as her trampling me with an entire herd of horses. This is the woman who raised <em>Merlin</em>." She gave a little shudder.</p>
<p>"So what was this horse stampede about?"</p>
<p>She looked away, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "We were talking about the ways that I could help you, and we came up with the idea of, well, passing me off as an ambassador to the other monarchs to try to convince them that you're doing the right thing."</p>
<p>Arthur frowned.</p>
<p>"It's a silly idea, I know," Guinevere sighed, "but Hunith just wouldn't take no for an answer, so I promised I'd at least talk to you about it."</p>
<p>"I don't think it's necessarily a silly idea. How did you come up with it?"</p>
<p>So Guinevere explained her discussion (which really was more of a verbal avalanche) with Hunith, the rationale that the older woman had come up with. By the end of it, Arthur was nodding thoughtfully. "She makes some good points."</p>
<p>"That's what I said," Morgana agreed. "Hunith's picked out a few people to potentially start off her retinue. You remember those smugglers who helped get people out of the city?"</p>
<p>"I remember hearing about them, yes. They're…actually willing to do this?"</p>
<p>"We have no idea," Guinevere admitted. "I haven't actually spoken with either of them since fleeing the city."</p>
<p>"They like you, though," Morgana pointed out.</p>
<p>"I'm fairly certain that they find me amusing, which is not exactly the same thing."</p>
<p>"There's also Merlin's friend Gilli. Remember when Sigan kidnapped him?"</p>
<p>"Vividly." That had been an eventful day, and he was highly unlikely to ever forget it. "Was Gilli one of the ones who went to save him?"</p>
<p>"Yes. It was him, Morgause, Balinor, and Kilgharrah. Gilli's not very powerful, but he has this ring that can enhance his abilities, and he's quite good with a sword."</p>
<p>"A good protector," Arthur noted. "If the smugglers agree, that's three of four positions filled."</p>
<p>"We were thinking that one of the Catha might work, but then Hunith had another idea."</p>
<p>Guinevere groaned.</p>
<p>"Well," Morgana huffed, amusement in her eyes, "it <em>would</em> make you more convincing if you had a lady's maid of your own, and I'm sure that Sefa could pick it up quickly enough."</p>
<p>"Is this Sefa a powerful spellbinder, then?"</p>
<p>"Well, no," Morgana admitted, "she's a lower-powered wizard, but she's very good at escaping notice and apparently mastered the standard escape spells by age twelve. She could probably sneak out of any situation where she's not too heavily guarded."</p>
<p>"That's really not necessary, though," Guinevere cut in. "I've still got that amulet from Merlin tucked away, the one that will let me call him if I'm in trouble."</p>
<p>Morgana smirked. "So if you're that well-protected, there's no need for another swordsman and we can focus on making you look like you've been a lady all your life."</p>
<p>Guinevere spluttered adorably for a moment, then gathered herself enough to glare. "Did Hunith put you up to this? Are you two <em>conspiring against me</em>?"</p>
<p>"Of course not, but she had a point when she said that a future queen has to get used to that sort of thing."</p>
<p>"I suppose," she was forced to admit. "Still, it will be… very strange."</p>
<p>"So Sefa, Gilli, and maybe Tristan and Isolde."</p>
<p>"Mind explaining why you're so insistent on bringing the smugglers along?" Arthur asked.</p>
<p>"Hunith pointed out that they're more likely to know the back escapes for any given place, and, well, I <em>did</em> promise them a pardon for helping people escape. It might be better to keep them out of trouble by removing them from temptation."</p>
<p>"But are you sure you can trust them? You're hardly bosom friends."</p>
<p>"But they like excitement, they're fond enough of Gwen to want to keep her safe, and we can offer them a sizeable reward in return for their services."</p>
<p>"There might be men among the guard who could…." Arthur trailed off with a grimace as he recalled what they'd been up to lately. "Never mind." That reminded him: he needed to speak with Brun, make the captain start official inquiries into every death of the renewed Purge. He also needed to figure out how to most effectively try them and punish those who were found guilty. He didn't doubt that quite a few would slip through the cracks, though, so maybe he could place each member on a sort of probation? He'd have to think about it.</p>
<p>There were a lot of things he had to think about. He really ought to write it all down on a list.</p>
<p>Morgana poked him, startling him out of his thoughts. "What was that for?"</p>
<p>"You were lost in your head," his sister answered.</p>
<p>"It's true, you were," Guinevere confirmed.</p>
<p>"Just thinking about all that I need to do. Speaking of, you'll need letters of introduction for this ambassadorial mission. I'll have to write those in the morning. Did you need me to speak with the smugglers who are apparently more trustworthy than my own guard too?"</p>
<p>"You'd probably just scare them off," Guinevere pointed out. "Morgana already scried them. They're back in Camelot again, so we can speak with them in the morning before picking up your letters."</p>
<p>"Good plan."</p>
<p>"Are you sure you're all right?" Guinevere asked him softly, giving his hand a little squeeze.</p>
<p>"I'm fine," Arthur insisted.</p>
<p>The ladies exchanged quick glances; it was clear that neither believed a word coming out of his mouth. Thankfully, though, neither confronted him about it. Instead, Guinevere commented, "You know how Merlin is always denying that he's magical royalty?"</p>
<p>"Has he finally admitted it, then?"</p>
<p>"Gods, no," Morgana chortled. "He's worse than ever. It turns out that his mother's grandparents are the King and Queen of the Sidhe…."</p>
<p>And so they sat and talked and laughed the tension away until the morning came.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Morgana Has Been Learning to Explain Things Merlin-Style (but she does it on Purpose)"</p>
<p>Next chapter: November 27. Gwen prepares for her mission.</p>
<p>...So I realized while writing this chapter that I'd pretty much forgotten about Alator and the Catha for literally an entire book. Fortunately, I was able to come up with a valid excuse for their absence.</p>
<p>Stay safe, everybody.</p>
<p>-Antares</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. To Breathe Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Smugglers and sorcery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter VIII: To Breathe Again</p><p>It was strange, Morgana reflected, to walk through Camelot again. In a good way, though.</p><p>Last time she'd been here, the streets had been empty and tense. People had looked at each other with wary eyes; they'd watched the guards with barely disguised hostility, like dangerous animals that might snap at any moment.</p><p>Now, though….</p><p>It wasn't perfect. Leftover tension lingered in some places, and a few people remained suspicious and snappish. Nobody seemed particularly happy when they saw a guard, but the bloodcloaks' presence had been greatly reduced, which Morgana suspected did quite a bit to alleviate tensions.</p><p>But it was so much better that it was almost like walking through an entirely different city. Every storefront was open, every smithy rang with the banging of hammers. People walked through the streets without glancing over their shoulders, instead focusing on conversations with their neighbors or on watching the happy, laughing children who zoomed through the crowds.</p><p>No one really paid attention to Morgana and Gwen, dressed as they were in peasant garb and focused on their destination. They'd teleported into the house Gwen had shared with her father to avoid the guards at the gates, then entered the city proper, walking as quickly as they could before their targets moved.</p><p>"You can breathe again," Gwen had murmured wonderingly, and she was right.</p><p>Tristan and Isolde were enjoying a late breakfast at their usual inn when Morgana and Gwen entered. Isolde glanced up disinterestedly at the sound of the door opening, looked away. Then her eyes widened as she realized what she'd seen, and her head snapped around as she said something to Tristan. He followed her gaze, mouth opening slightly when he recognized Gwen.</p><p>"You're not dead," Isolde noted wonderingly.</p><p>"I'm not dead," Gwen confirmed, a grin on her face.</p><p>"Who's your friend?" Tristan asked suspiciously.</p><p>"Morgana le Fey, of Tintagel. Morgana, these are Tristan and Isolde."</p><p>The smugglers stiffened, either because Morgana was an authority figure or because she was a known witch. Or maybe, the lady reflected, it was a combination of both. But they didn't flee or shout or call any attention to the strange little group, so she counted it as a win.</p><p>"We have a proposition for you."</p><p>They exchanged unreadable glances before returning their attention to Morgana. "Oh?"</p><p>Gwen took over. If Morgana hadn't known her, she'd have thought that the former maidservant was completely unruffled rather than fighting down tension. "You know, obviously, that Arthur—ah, King Arthur—is planning to repeal the ban on magic. To do that, he needs to renegotiate treaties with several other kingdoms that have sworn to attack any land where magic is free. He's going to have a summit next spring, but decided that it would be best if he sent an ambassador to lay the groundwork beforehand."</p><p>"And Lady Morgana the known witch is going to be his ambassador?" Tristan said.</p><p>"No," said Gwen. "My brother Elyan is a knight, which means that I am technically a lady."</p><p>"And you want us in your retinue," Isolde deduced. A slow grin spread across her face. "Because we probably know better escape routes than anyone else you know?"</p><p>"That's a big part of it," Gwen admitted. "There's also the fact that you were willing to help people escape Uther's reign of terror, even though you could have been killed on the spot if you were caught. You're brave, cunning, quick, and you've proven both that you can be trusted with dangerous work and that you're willing to help out people associated with magic."</p><p>"You'd be well compensated, of course," Morgana cut in. "Room and board in multiple castles, new clothing and horses, and quite a bit of silver. Speaking of which…." She passed them a small coin purse, payment for the last group of people they'd spirited from the citadel before her own unmasking had put an end to their little smuggling project.</p><p>"…How much silver?"</p><p>Morgana named her starting price. It was enough to make the smugglers' eyes go wide and to make Gwen hide a wince. They'd decided on this amount last night after a lot of wild guesswork about how much smugglers made in an average season. Apparently, their haphazard calculation was just as interesting as they'd hoped.</p><p>"We need to talk about it in private," Isolde declared. She and her partner scurried off.</p><p>"Do you think they'll do it?" Morgana asked once they were out of sight.</p><p>"Yes," said Gwen. "If they say no this time, I strongly suspect that Hunith will come to convince them."</p><p>Morgana managed not to laugh. "And that'll do the trick?"</p><p>"The woman is a force of nature, Morgana. If Arthur sets her on his more reticent councilors, magic will be legal within the week."</p><p>"What about Sarrum?"</p><p>"That's actually a good question, and I don't know if I'd want to watch that confrontation or run the other way. It would probably end up in the history books. They'd write songs about it."</p><p>"We could get Geoffrey to—here they come."</p><p>Tristan and Isolde slid into their old seats. "You're asking an awful lot from us, you know," he told them. "We'd be risking our lives for, what, half a year? Double your offer and we have a deal."</p><p>Morgana grinned at him, because this was something she had experience with. It was always fun to bargain with another professional.</p><p>In the end, she and Tristan agreed on a price that was closer to her initial offer than his. They shook on the deal, each satisfied with the end result.</p><p>"We'd be recognized at the castle," Gwen told them, "so we need you two to go get the letters of introduction from Arthur. And… if you see my brother Elyan—he's one of the new knights, so he'll probably close by—could you give him this?" She handed Isolde a thick letter. "It's from me and our dad. We had to leave rather abruptly and haven't had a chance to get directly in touch with him."</p><p>"We'll do it," Isolde promised.</p><p>They agreed to meet at noon at a location about two miles west of the city. Morgana and Gwen had already arranged to rendezvous with Gilli and Sefa there, so it would serve as the starting point of Gwen's ambassadorial tour. Before that, though, they had a few other preparations to make.</p><p>Hunith had managed to acquire most of the necessary supplies yesterday afternoon: food, tents, a map, and serviceable good clothes. She had not, however, been able to acquire raiment suitable for a lady, as they hadn't had any of that in the Isle of the Blessed and certainly didn't have anything in Gedref. Fortunately, Morgana had given Gwen a few of her own old (or 'old' or 'didn't suit me but I bet they'd look lovely on you, Gwen') dresses over the years, and her former maid had already fitted them to her own measurements. Since they didn't have to return to the Isle for two random Catha companions before heading off Gilli and Sefa, they had time to double back to her old home and pick up a couple nicer pieces.</p><p>(They could technically have done that before speaking with the smugglers, but they'd felt that it would be easier to go back to Gwen's house than to track down Tristan and Isolde if they finished their breakfast more quickly than anticipated and left the inn. It wasn't like Morgana could whip out a scrying bowl on the streets of Camelot. Even if she could, she hadn't yet learned how to scry on her own, though Morgause was quite intent on teaching her.)</p><p>"I can't believe this is actually happening," Gwen confessed as they made their way to the meeting place. "Gods, I hope I don't ruin everything."</p><p>"You won't," Morgana assured her. It was not the first time they'd had this talk. "You aren't going to inspire any wars or assassination attempts or anything else you're worried about. You won't make a fool of yourself, either. Just remember to take deep breaths."</p><p>"…I wish you were going with me."</p><p>"I do too," Morgana admitted, "but everyone on Albion must know by now that I'm a witch. I'd just get the entire group thrown into the dungeons."</p><p>"Still," Gwen sighed, then forced a brave smile. "It's good to see Camelot alive again, don't you think?"</p><p>Morgana let the subject change stand. "It is. It's especially good to see that there aren't a hundred guards at every gate. I would really rather not be recognized."</p><p>"I keep expecting someone to suddenly confront us," Gwen admitted. "Just, you know, burst out of the shadows shouting about witches and traitors."</p><p>They paused a moment, suddenly tense, and looked into the nearest shadows. Nobody paid them any mind. They grinned at each other, a little embarrassed, and walked on without mentioning it.</p><p>Soon—<em>too</em> soon, Morgana thought with a pang—they were at the rendezvous. They leaned against a pair of trees, chatting idly, until Morgause appeared with Gilli and Sefa.</p><p>"I take it you were successful?" the warlock inquired.</p><p>"We were," Gwen confirmed. "Tristan and Isolde should be here in just a few minutes with our horses and the letters."</p><p>"That'll be nice." Gilli gave his saddlebag a little shake. "Or it will be once I get used to them. I'm… not particularly experienced with horses."</p><p>"Have you not ridden before?"</p><p>"Only a couple of times. I can handle it, I'll just be sore for the first day or two." He smiled slightly. "Good thing our first stop isn't too far."</p><p>They had decided to visit Nemeth first. It was a small kingdom and closely allied with Camelot, a relatively easy introduction to Gwen's new task. Even better, its royal family was (from what Morgana and Arthur could remember of them) sensible and intelligent, quite inclined to listen to reason.</p><p>It would have been easier to set out from Gedref, as that territory bordered on Nemeth, but they weren't certain how Tristan and Isolde would have reacted to teleportation, nor did they want to reveal the whereabouts of their temporary refuge. Everyone would hopefully be in Listeneise within the fortnight, a month at the most, but there was really no point in tempting fate.</p><p>"Thank you again for doing this," Gwen told them. "Both of you. You're very brave."</p><p>"So are you," Morgana reminded her.</p><p>A nervous little smile. "Thank you. Morgana, Morgause, good luck with Amata. Tell Merlin not to strain himself until he's absolutely positive he can handle it, with helping you <em>or</em> finishing up in Listeneise."</p><p>"Don't worry, I will. Good luck with Nemeth. I'll try to bring you back into the dream world tonight."</p><p>"Right. I'll see you then."</p><p>They hugged, tight and perhaps a bit desperate. "You'll do fine," Morgana promised.</p><p>"So will you," Gwen replied.</p><p>Morgana gave her friend one last squeeze, one last nod, then disengaged. "I'm ready, Morgause."</p><p>The wind picked up, and then the sisters were back in Gedref, leaving Gwen behind.</p><hr/><p>Today wasn't quite a <em>bad</em> day, Merlin reflected, but it was definitely below average. Bad enough that he wanted to put this off, but not so bad that he couldn't bull through it. He just had to keep his slight tiredness and dizziness from Wyrmbasu, as the wyvern could be quite the worrywart sometimes.</p><p>He might not have been successful in that endeavor, as Basu was eyeing him with extreme skepticism.</p><p>"Don't look at me like that," Merlin whined.</p><p>Basu kept looking at him like that. His tail gave a little thump.</p><p>Persuasion was all in presentation. Merlin gestured at his stomach. "I finally figured out why this isn't healing right. It's the Dark Tower. You know, the nasty thing that made your old master's bad condition even worse? So if I want to get better, I have to destroy the Dark Tower."</p><p>Basu tilted his head to the side. Merlin decided to take that as a good sign.</p><p>"And this won't be like when I knocked myself unconscious for days after taking the reins from Anfortas, because I had no idea what I was getting into then. I've made proper preparations this time. Father will come at sundown in case I'm too tired to fly. He'll bring me back to Gedref. Morgana and Morgause will be checking in on Arthur, Gwen, and the knights. Well, mostly Morgause, since Morgana can't scry yet, but she'll be very useful if they do have to go to Camelot to rescue him. And Gaius and a bunch of other healers know exactly what I'm doing, so they're prepared, too." Merlin grinned, spread his arms. "Contrary to popular belief, I <em>do</em> know how to learn from my mistakes."</p><p>He didn't mention certain other aspects of his family's plans, namely that he was under quite a lot of (internal) pressure to do this as soon as possible. If everything worked out, his father would teleport the first wave of survivors to the old capital of Listeneise tomorrow. They would ready houses, clean out the rest of the wells, and generally finish making the place habitable. (They would also need to prepare beds for Sarrum's victims, who would eventually be brought to the safety of the Perilous Lands, though they'd have to recover a bit first.) As soon as they deemed the place habitable, they'd send word to Hunith, who would organize the next groups of settlers.</p><p>Anhora and Blaise had tried very hard to hide their relief about all these unexpected guests finally leaving their home, but Merlin could tell they were happy about it. Not that he blamed them, of course.</p><p>"As you can see, I'm being very sensible about this, and I'm doing it for a good, well-thought-out reason," Merlin told his wyvern. "So what do you say, my friend? Shall we?"</p><p>Basu lowered himself to the ground, allowing his warlock to clamber onto his back. Merlin gave the wyvern's head a quick little scratch before his red wings unfurled and they were off.</p><p>Perhaps it was the dragonlord in him. Perhaps it was his mother's Sidhe blood. Perhaps it was just because he was named for a bird. Whatever the reason, Merlin absolutely loved flying: the steady flapping of Wyrmbasu's wings, the wind carding his hair and stinging his eyes, the ocean rippling beneath him. Soon they came over another shore, over patches of forest and field threaded through with little streams. They crossed a ravine, and the landscape changed into something barren and blighted until they reached a thick dark wood. Then the Dark Tower poked over the horizon (Merlin's wound ached) like an accusing finger, growing larger by the moment.</p><p>It was the first time Merlin had come here since his injury, so he wasn't prepared for the way that the pain increased. By the time that Basu lighted, he was panting for breath.</p><p>"You're not looking well, young warlock."</p><p>Merlin jumped. "Kilgharrah," he gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. Don't <em>do</em> that."</p><p>It really said something about his state that he hadn't immediately noticed the enormous bronze-and-gold dragon. In his defense, though, Kilgharrah had been waiting in the forest, obscured by its thick canopy. Also, Merlin wouldn't put it past the dragon to remain invisible until he spoke, just for his own amusement.</p><p>"What are you doing here?"</p><p>"Your parents told me about your plans and requested that I keep an eye on you."</p><p>Wyrmbasu hissed, wings flaring. Kilgharrah replied with a slow, impassive blink.</p><p>"But Father is going to check on me come sundown."</p><p>"Sunset is a long way off, Merlin. Neither Balinor nor Hunith wanted you to lie on the ground for hours. If you do lose consciousness, it will be safer for me to carry you back to Gedref than to let your wyvern try to bear you on his back."</p><p>Basu chuffed. "He didn't mean it that way," Merlin murmured, scratching his friend's head. "He just has bigger claws, that's all." Louder, he asked, "I don't suppose you have any last-minute suggestions to make this easier?"</p><p>"Do it as quickly as possible," Kilgharrah advised. "One blow, so that the tower cannot regroup. And do it soon. The longer you are here, the more it will sap your strength."</p><p>"Right," Merlin agreed. He walked—well, staggered, using Beothaich as a walking stick—until the vile structure was barely a step away. This close, the presence of the mandrakes and ugly magicks was almost overwhelming, seeping into him like the odor of putrefaction. It was looking at him, almost, a malevolent presence with its own dangerous consciousness….</p><p>The stab wound burned. So did his land-bond.</p><p>Merlin made a rude gesture at his architectural adversary. "That's not going to work, so knock it off." He sat, slipped off his shoes. He felt a bit better with his bare feet directly on the ground, though it was still embarrassingly difficult to stand back up. Beothaich dug into the ground as its master positioned himself.</p><p>The land-bond opened wide. Strength flowed into him from stone and stream and hillock, from the waves pounding against the shore and the deep roots of the nearby forest. Even the air was charged with something electric.</p><p>Breathe in, breathe out.</p><p>Bedrock and topsoil, groundwater and springs, sleeping bones and crumbling buildings, root and loam, mouse and wyvern. He could feel them all, a million little pinpricks on his awareness, but there was one thing, one terrible ugly thing, that threatened to drown out their songs. It was a discordant note, a blood-fat leech, a wound leaking pus.</p><p>Merlin wove the wind and the waters into a net; he strengthened it with granite and tempered it in the memory of a forest fire. The net twisted in his hands, folding in on itself, its gaps filling with crystal and brambles. He pushed the spell into his staff, let it linger in the crystal, and called upon the power he'd held before taking up the Fisher King's mantle. Dragonfire flowed through his veins, tempered by sweet water from the Lake of Avalon. His bones were shards of crystal; his breath, the wind of change.</p><p>These things Merlin fashioned into a scythe. Words flowed from his lips without him noticing, words that he had never learned in any of Gaius or Blaise's lessons. The air itself tingled.</p><p>A trickle of red ran down his face, onto his lips. He ignored it.</p><p>The next bit was the trickiest. He had to time it perfectly. He needed to cut through the spellwork attaching the Dark Tower to the land. Then, when the building tried to reconnect, he had to wrap it in his net, let it draw strength from just that tiny, finite fraction of what Listeneise had to offer. Then and only then could he physically attack the tower, strike it with lightning and quaking.</p><p>Merlin drew in a deep breath. Raised his blazing staff. Aimed—</p><p>-and collapsed with a shout as another knife slammed into his belly.</p><p>No, he realized a few moments later, he hadn't actually been stabbed again. It just felt like he was reliving that soldier's attack. His wound was open again, worse than it had been since the night of the attack. Blood gushed down his stomach.</p><p>He'd pass out soon, just like he had then.</p><p>Thank the gods (and also his parents) that Kilgharrah was there. He'd probably bleed out otherwise. Indeed, the dragon was fast approaching, telling him to let go of the spells, that he could do this later.</p><p>The spells. He still had the spells!</p><p>Merlin didn't think about it, didn't let himself think, because he was absolutely positive that the Dark Tower could read his intentions. Instead, he acted.</p><p>As the warlock struck with his scythe, he pulled on the land-bond as hard as he could. He flung it behind himself, then raised the net like it was a shield.</p><p>The ties between the Dark Tower and the kingdom of Listeneise were severed, cut through as easily as felling grain (as easily as bloodcloaks cut through his people). But the tower had been designed to withstand that kind of attack, to latch back onto the land within half a heartbeat. Its magic flailed about like hungry tentacles, like lampreys, diving right at Merlin and the land that he protected.</p><p>It hit his shield-net instead. The magical structure collapsed around it, enveloping it like a cocoon. But the tower's mouths were already burrowing through, slavering as they sought a bigger meal.</p><p>With the last of his strength, Merlin pulled up the scythe of his own power and cut through the bonds which connected him and his land to the rapidly weakening net.</p><p>(Beothaich's light stuttered. Merlin's blood dripped onto the ground. Drip, drop, drip, drop, and long-dormant seeds drank it in.)</p><p>He was going to pass out now, but he had to stay awake, had to maintain another barrier between the net and Listeneise in case he'd underestimated the Dark Tower and it made another attempt. He had to—</p><p>Warm, golden breath. His wound scabbed over, not yet fully healed, but no longer leaking lifeblood everywhere. A blunt snout nosed at him, a wing pressing against his side.</p><p>Merlin opened his eyes. (When had he closed them?) He did not stand (when had he fallen to his knees?), for he didn't want to waste an iota of his strength. Instead, he glared up at his enemy, eyes burning magic-golden like the crystal atop his stave.</p><p>Even with Kilgharrah's breath partially healing him, the warlock didn't know if he could stay awake long enough to let the Dark Tower devour itself. If it broke free, it would latch back onto Listeneise and Merlin would have to do this all over again.</p><p>That, he decided, was not going to happen.</p><p>But there was only so far that stubbornness could take him, and he was rapidly approaching that threshold. He needed a way to drain the tower's energy more quickly, take it out with a bang rather than a whimper.</p><p>Merlin dug deep, deep into the part of him that was Emrys. He breathed in, letting the magic pool behind his breastbone, flow up his arms.</p><p>Breathe in. Form the shape of the word, the spell. This would happen; the universe would shape itself to his will, and that was all there was to it.</p><p>"<em>Acwele</em>!"</p><p>The spell leapt forward with all the force and splendor of a lightning bolt. The last thing Merlin saw before the exhaustion finally claimed him was his light colliding into the Dark Tower, breaking it in two.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...So guess who mixed up the update dates and thought I was supposed to post on Dec. 4? That's right, it's me! I'm a flipping genius, yes I am.</p><p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Wyrmbasu is Reluctantly Convinced to go along with Shenanigans (Because Merlin Would Just Hurt Himself Otherwise, You Know he Would)"</p><p>NaNo is going pretty well. As of this moment, I have slightly less than a thousand words to reach 50k. I've reached and exceeded my personal goals of finishing/writing 3 one-shots for TPP and getting up to chapter 20 of this fic. It'll obviously need a lot of editing, but the first draft is done.</p><p>Next chapter: December 18, and I WILL get it right this time. Lots of people conspire. An unexpected character (though you might be able to guess, looking at the show) arrives in the court of Camelot.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. All Sorts of Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gaius takes care of Merlin. Arthur diplomacies.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter IX: All Sorts of Healing</p><p>Gaius wished that he was surprised when Wyrmbasu and Kilgharrah returned from Listeneise bearing his unconscious nephew, but he wasn't. He knew Merlin too well, knew that the boy (no, a man; young, but still a man) would keep pushing and pushing until he had nothing else to give. He was stubborn that way.</p><p>The physician almost didn't ask whether or not Merlin had succeeded in his task. It didn't seem immediately relevant. Then he remembered their theory that the Dark Tower was draining Merlin's strength and keeping that blasted stab wound open, and it became very important indeed.</p><p>"Yes," Kilgharrah proclaimed solemnly. "The Dark Tower has fallen, as was prophesied."</p><p>Gaius pulled up Merlin's shirt, grimacing at the ruined bandages. He'd bled a great deal, poor thing, but none of the blood was fresh. "Did you heal him?"</p><p>"Yes, twice."</p><p>"Twice?" Gaius repeated, alarmed.</p><p>"Yes," was the dragon's distinctly annoyed response. Gaius thought that the emotion was directed at his former ward, though, so he raised an eyebrow and waited. Kilgharrah continued, "He began to bleed during the spell, so I patched him up to prevent his bleeding out. Once he was finished, I breathed upon him again." There was a faint hint of smugness in his voice. "The injury will not be bothering him again."</p><p>The tension drained from Gaius's shoulders. He smiled, happier than he'd been in days. Merlin's inexplicable wound had worried him even before he'd known why it wasn't healing. "Excellent. Then this is probably just magical exhaustion, and he'll be right as rain within a few days."</p><p>Since Merlin wasn't in immediate danger, Gaius decided to focus on getting those bandages off him. Taking his scissors, he snipped through the fabric near the edge of the bloodstain, leaving perhaps a half-inch of off-white on either side of the red-brown discoloration. After setting most of those strips of fabric aside, he filled a bowl with fresh water, then took it and… three strips ought to be enough… back to the prone warlock.</p><p>By now, Balinor and Hunith had heard of their son's return and come to check in on him; the former must have returned from Listeneise just to make certain that Merlin was all right. The dragon must have filled them in, for they looked more exasperated and affectionate than worried at Merlin's continued unconsciousness. "How long do you think he'll be out?" the dragonlord asked.</p><p>"With Merlin, it's hard to say," Gaius admitted. "Even before he took on this land-bond, he regenerated magical power more quickly than anyone else I've ever met. Now, he can draw on Listeneise, but in the same way, Listeneise can draw on him. I honestly don't know."</p><p>"I don't think it will be too long," Hunith said. "Granted, he'll probably go right back to sleep, but he'll wake up soon enough."</p><p>"That's as likely as anything else."</p><p>"<em>More</em> likely," Hunith corrected him with a sniff. "I know everything there is to know about his sleeping habits. I'm his mother." But here she froze, fresh grief welling up in her eyes.</p><p>Balinor took his wife's hand, raised it gently to his lips. She shuddered, her breathing harsh, her eyes squeezed shut. An entire silent conversation passed between them—not thought-speech, but something much more intimate, something that they must have discussed many times in hushed voices while the rest of the world slept. "We should ask," the dragonlord told her gently.</p><p>Hunith nodded, face hardening in determination. Her free hand curled around her belly. "It's about Ganieda," she said all in a rush, before her nerves could silence her. "I know that you have no way of knowing for certain, I know that it's never been done before, but… how do you think her birth will affect her?"</p><p>He'd been wondering when they would ask. He'd also been hoping that it would be later rather than sooner, since he had no idea whatsoever and had been hoping to find something in the libraries of Listeneise (though now that Merlin was better, another plan was beginning to take shape). While it was highly unlikely that any books, particularly books about the Sidhe that might hold answers, had survived the centuries since the Fisher King's injury, many magical books were enchanted to resist wear, tear, and decay. That hadn't saved them from Uther's fires (a pang as he remembered once again that the old king was dead), but it was vaguely, faintly possible that someone had so bespelled a tome with answers, or at least information that he could use to make educated guesses. A thin hope, yes, but better than nothing.</p><p>"The Sidhe are known for their healing abilities, so I don't doubt that she will be perfectly healthy when she returns to you," the physician answered. "As for everything else…. Your firstborn child was Emrys, and that was almost certainly at least partly due to the crossing of your unique bloodlines. Ganieda will not be so strongly magical; there is a power in being the first. However, she will likely manifest magic at a young age. I suspect that, since she was born in Avalon, she'll take more after the Sidhe than Merlin does."</p><p>"That's what we thought," Balinor admitted. "But…."</p><p>"Children are hurt, sometimes, when their births are traumatic," Hunith cut in. She couldn't quite manage to look at him. "Something breaks inside of them. Some end up sickly, some never learn to walk or talk or do anything but lie there day in and day out, trapped within their own skulls." She shuddered.</p><p>"As I said, the Sidhe are great healers," Gaius assured her gently. "Even if Ganieda's birth had caused that kind of damage—which, judging from what you've told me, I very much doubt—they would heal her."</p><p>Hunith sagged against her husband. Balinor wasn't much better, his shoulders loosening dramatically as a sigh escaped his mouth. "Thank all the gods."</p><p>"Indeed. Your daughter will be healthy and, gods willing, happy. As for what form her magic takes, however… you'll have to do as all parents do. You'll just have to wait and see."</p><hr/><p>Arthur Pendragon was weak.</p><p>King Uther had been many things: mad, obsessive, broken, <em>strong</em>. He had done what he wanted without asking for permission or explaining himself to the <em>peasantry</em>, of all things, as was proper for a reigning monarch. His son, though, had spent all of yesterday morning and a good chunk of the afternoon convincing the smallfolk to see things his way. He'd even allowed people to walk away when they still openly carried a dissenting opinion.</p><p>They said that madness ran in the Pendragon line. Perhaps Arthur was just as deranged as his sire, though his was a quieter, softer insanity. Or perhaps he really was just weak.</p><p>At least Arthur had acted somewhat properly in the afternoon, holding court among the nobility as he sat on his throne. There were a great many in the city—Cenred wasn't certain why, but they'd been there even before Uther's death and just kept pouring in—and Arthur wanted to hear from each one about his (or, in a few cases, her) holdings.</p><p>He allowed open dissent in his nobility, too, the idiot. Quite a few of the lords hinted at or even outright stated their doubts about returning magic. Arthur listened to them with a grave expression before placating them, not reminding them who exactly was the king here.</p><p>Honestly, Cenred would be doing Camelot a favor when he took it over.</p><p>Arthur had spent this morning mostly holed up with certain knights and higher-ranking members of the guard. Rumor had it that quite a few of his men would be fired or even prosecuted for actions they'd taken in the last days of Uther's reign. Cenred could sort of understand that; you had to keep people in their places without pushing them too far, and if Arthur hadn't spent half of yesterday placating his peasantry, he'd have approved of the younger king's use of scapegoats to quell unrest. Except he <em>had</em> spent yesterday soothing the smallfolk, and Cenred had a sneaking suspicion that Arthur's actions today had more to do with pursuing justice, equality, and other saccharine impracticalities than consolidating his power. Truly unfathomable.</p><p>(There had been one moment when a man and a woman in male clothing had gone into the council chamber, according to the servant he'd bribed to keep an eye on proceedings, but they'd left in mere minutes. If Cenred had gotten word earlier, he might have sent a member of his retinue after the strange couple, but his impromptu spy was still inexperienced and hadn't thought it was important. Perhaps Cenred could coax an explanation out of his cousin at dinner that night.)</p><p>The two kings were scheduled to have lunch that day. Cenred idly wondered how Arthur would react if he just failed to arrive. There probably wouldn't be any consequences whatsoever. Hell, the King of Camelot might even <em>apologize</em> for whatever had offended Cenred so much that he stayed away.</p><p>But he wanted Arthur to think him an ally, and besides, he had the best food in Camelot. Cenred sat down for a meal that could be considered private if one didn't count the servants (which Cenred did not).</p><p>"My apologies for neglecting you lately, cousin," Arthur sighed. "It was nothing you did, only my need to get Camelot under control as quickly as possible. We've suffered enough this summer; the last thing we need is more rioting."</p><p>"Understandable," Cenred acquiesced, "but most kings would simply dispatch the guard and be done with it."</p><p>Arthur didn't rise to the bait. Self-control, weakness, or simply not recognizing the subtle insult? He merely hummed his agreement and began making the required small talk. Are you enjoying your stay? Your chambers are comfortable and don't need anything? We'll be having a hunt soon, not a long one, but still an opportunity to spend a good few hours in the saddle. I do hope you ride with us.</p><p>Once the niceties were dispersed with, Arthur took a long draught of wine. After placing it down (a servant topped it off), he stated, "There's something I wish to discuss with you and, indeed, with every other monarch on this island." He met Cenred's gaze. His eyes were surprisingly hard, full of determination. "At my coronation, I vowed to bring justice and prosperity to all the people of Camelot, including those who are capable of using magic."</p><p>The other king nodded slowly. "Yes, I'd gathered."</p><p>"One of the biggest obstacles I face in legalizing magic is a certain clause that my father put into all of Camelot's treaties. It states that Camelot and the allied nation must declare war on any kingdom that refuses to implement its own Purge."</p><p>"You want to erase that clause in our treaty," Cenred surmised.</p><p>"Exactly. I have reason to believe that returning magic will benefit both our kingdoms. We'll get more healers, more protections against famine, more little charms to ease the strain of everyday life. We'll be able to dedicate more resources to clearing out bandits rather than hunting druids. Both of our peoples will be better off."</p><p>Cenred sipped his wine, considering, as Arthur kept going on. He wouldn't need to worry about the treaty once Camelot and Essetir were one kingdom, but he needed to look like a friend of magic, plant the seeds of their loyalty.</p><p>"I agree."</p><p>Arthur pulled up short, struck dumb with surprise. He must have expected more of an argument.</p><p>"I never agreed with the Purge," lied Cenred, who had actually never really thought about it until having an opinion could benefit him politically, "but my first duty is to Essetir. I couldn't risk allied nations crushing my kingdom in a war we couldn't win." Hopefully, Arthur would tell Merlin possibly-Emrys about this conversation.</p><p>"Yes," said the younger king. "Yes, exactly."</p><p>"How quickly can we alter the treaty?"</p><p>"I see no reason we couldn't do it today. Shall we adjourn to my study after lunch? I can send for Sir Geoffrey."</p><p>"An excellent idea."</p><p>Arthur tried to hide a boyish grin behind his goblet. "I look forward to it."</p><p>They were just finishing their meal when a nervous squire padded into the room. "Sire, I have news."</p><p>"What is it, Marrok?"</p><p>The boy came closer, murmured something in his king's ear. That king's grin faded, his expression warping from sunshine to storm in the blink of an eye. "My apologies, King Cenred, but I need to delay the signing for a while."</p><p>"What happened?" What could possibly supersede Arthur's pet project?</p><p>The other king's smile was grim. "The border guard has captured a very important prisoner."</p><hr/><p>"Have you been able to find any other entrances?"</p><p>"No," said Alator (with rather more patience than Morgana could have shown in that situation). "Once again, we have only found a single point of entry." He didn't look fed up at all, which was frankly amazing. The man ought to give lessons to courtiers. "The good news is that we still haven't found any other settlements nearby, either." His lips curved ever so slightly. "Also, we have confirmed that the guards really do switch every week."</p><p>"Then let's go forward with striking towards the beginning of their work week," Morgause decreed. Morgana nodded.</p><p>Sarrum's pit was isolated, too far to reasonably traverse twice in one day. Even Sarrum, when he went to visit, would spend at least one night there. To compensate for the distance, he'd had a set of barracks built there in the middle of the woods. A contingent of guardsmen would arrive there every Sunday, live in the barracks for a week, and go back to their preferred position in Sarrum's castle once they were relieved by the next batch. If the raid struck on a Monday or Tuesday, they would have several days to heal the pit's victims before moving them to Listeneise. Monday would be better, Morgana thought. The sooner struck, the happier she would be.</p><p>The priestess continued, "Last time I tried scrying the land nearby, I found a little glen a bit upstream of the barracks. That would be a good site for a camp."</p><p>Alator wasn't completely convinced. "I think I know the one. It's barely half a mile away. Is that too close?"</p><p>"Not if we post guards and druidic wards of concealment," Morgana assured them. "All we need is a few hours for the weaker spellbinders to recover from teleportation. We can keep hidden for that long, especially if something were to distract the guards."</p><p>"Like what?" asked Morgause. "I have a few suggestions."</p><p>"Or we could make it rain," Alator butted in just a bit too quickly. Morgana didn't blame him. Her sister had a tendency towards overly complicated schemes requiring undead armies and powerful magical artifacts. Merlin had once listened to her explain three consecutive ideas for stealing Uther's messages with increasing bemusement only to point out that the sleep spells were working quite well, thank you, and anyways, where would they even <em>keep</em> all those serkets? Thankfully for everyone, he, Morgana, and Hunith had been able to talk her down.</p><p>"I like that idea," the witch seconded. "We might not even need to do anything." Rain was hardly uncommon on an island, and she had a feeling that the weather would turn soon. "Except bring shelter, of course." They'd have to squeeze in tightly to fit, but everyone had been squeezing together since they'd arrived at Gedref. "And, remember, as far as we know, they've never been attacked by an outside force before. They won't be looking for anything."</p><p>"There might be a hunting party," Alator pointed out reasonably.</p><p>The ladies shook their heads. "Not on royal land, they won't. It's illegal."</p><p>"Ah," murmured Alator, in the tone of someone whose island stronghold didn't have such laws. "I had forgotten about that. Very well. If we needn't worry about hunters and there's no signs that their patrols wander too far from their base, we're very unlikely to be discovered. Have you started a list of herbs yet?"</p><p>They had. Morgause procured it without a word. The Catha looked it over, nodded his approval. "Very good. Now, since Lord Embries will need time to recover, I suggest that we formulate a training routine for our volunteers. They'll need practice with long-distance sleep spells."</p><p>Morgana smiled at him. "<em>Excellent</em> idea."</p><p>The more they planned this, the more they practiced, the better their chances of success. And with two dozen lives at stake, failure was not an option.</p><p>(Not again.)</p><hr/><p>It was a mark of how chaotic these last few weeks had been that Arthur hadn't even known about Caerleon's raids on their shared border. Somehow, the information had just… not come to him. Though perhaps part of that had to do with the identity of the man who'd organized a response to the attacks.</p><p>Arthur had met Sir Traherne and his men during the short-lived war with Magance. They had tried to escort him back to the capital when Merlin had shown up with bad news about the guard being allowed to kill each other for no reason. Arthur had gone with the warlock, leaving his honor guard behind. Traherne had wisely decided not to return to Uther after 'losing' his son to a warlock and had instead found another place to make himself useful. If his self-proclaimed posting endured indefinitely, well, that just meant that he didn't have to bother the king with more information about his son's antics.</p><p>He and his men must have been so relieved when they heard that Uther was dead. Not that any of Traherne's underlings were here with him—he'd left them at the border, probably fearing that one of them would crack under the strain of being in Camelot, and only learned about the assassination on the road.</p><p>(And now Traherne could come back for good, and his men as well, and all the other poor folk who'd been driven out of their homes by his father's rabid hate. Gods, Uther had so much to answer for.)</p><p>But although it was a relief to know that his former escort was all right, Arthur was far more interested in the man he'd taken captive: Caerleon, the unfortunately (and confusingly) named king of Caerleon.</p><p>Yes, Arthur was well aware that "Camelot" could refer to the kingdom or to the city, but that was completely different. The name had come from the town, with the surrounding lands referred to as "Camelot's territory" until people got tired of calling it that and just lumped the whole thing under one heading. It made sense. Caerleon's parents, though, had known full well that they were naming their firstborn after the kingdom he'd one day inherit.</p><p>But now was not the time to mentally grouse over bizarre and terrible parenting choices. Not when the king himself stood in Arthur's throne room, tall and proud despite his chains.</p><p>"Your Majesty," Arthur said, his voice deliberately even.</p><p>"Your Majesty," Caerleon replied. "My condolences and congratulations, King Arthur."</p><p>(The title still felt as wrong as it did right.)</p><p>"Thank you." Cenred was here too, his eyes boring into them both. Arthur knew that the other king thought him weak; he needed to be strong lest Essetir start nibbling at their borders. Better not to dither, then. "You tried to capture the village of Stonedown."</p><p>Caerleon shrugged. The motion was languid, even careless, but his eyes were dagger-sharp. "Half its population had already fled across the border. I thought that I might as well finish the job."</p><p>Arthur's jaw tightened. "If half the village took that option, then the other half chose <em>not</em> to."</p><p>"Or they were too poor, sickly, or frightened to make the trek," Caerleon retorted. "Your royal father was not known for his mercy, Your Majesty."</p><p>A hush fell over the onlookers. Every eye bored into Arthur, waiting to see how he would react. Waiting to judge him.</p><p>"He was not," Arthur agreed in a voice of ice. "And yet, when you chose to move on Stonedown, he was still alive and nominally in charge of the kingdom. What exactly did you think would happen, Your Majesty? That my father would simply let you walk off with one of our most productive fishing villages? That you could raid these lands without retribution?"</p><p>"I'm not a sorcerer, so no, I wasn't particularly concerned."</p><p>And now the crowd was muttering among themselves. If Arthur was lucky, they were remembering the statistics about bandits that had so recently been made public. If he wasn't, they were questioning the worth of the entire Pendragon dynasty and contemplating the benefits of joining Caerleon. The king's hands clenched on the arms of his throne.</p><p>"You will find, King Caerleon, that I care less about a man's sorcerous capabilities and more about the choices he makes. You have chosen to encroach on my kingdom, to shed the blood of my people, to spit on the treaty you signed with my father."</p><p>The murmuring died away.</p><p>Cenred was watching, as silent and deadly as any serpent. Other kings would hear about this soon: Sarrum, who was almost certainly plotting war; Bayard, who had only made peace a year ago; Alined, the consummate scoundrel; Odin, who must still grieve his son. The lords of the kingdom would hear of this, too, them and the common people and the children of magic.</p><p>His crown weighed so much. No wonder Uther had crumbled beneath its weight without Ygraine to help him bear it.</p><p>He didn't have any idea what the hell he was supposed to do. He'd thought that he would know, once he was actually king. He'd thought that the uncertainty would go away, but it was worse than ever.</p><p>Arthur breathed in, breathed out. "For now, you will remain here as my guest," he decreed. "You'll be guarded, obviously, and though I will allow you to write to your court, my people will look through any letters before they're sent. If I determine you can be trusted to not break another sworn, signed oath, then we can discuss another treaty to replace the one you've so flagrantly violated. If not, I will have to keep you here and negotiate with your heir." He turned to Leon, deliberately ignoring the other king. "Draw up a schedule so that he's supervised by at least two knights at all times."</p><p>"Of course, sire. Where should we put him?"</p><p>Arthur considered. "The eastern wing, I think." It had been relatively abandoned even before Sigan's attack, so reconstruction efforts had focused elsewhere. It would be uncomfortable and isolated without the additional indignity of actually throwing Caerleon into the dungeons.</p><p>At the very least, he'd bought himself some time. Now all Arthur had to do was figure out everything else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which a New Sassmaster Arrives"</p><p>Next chapter: January 8. Ambassador Gwen arrives in Nemeth and meets the royal family.</p><p>(I don't particularly like the Gaius and Morgana parts of this chapter, but they're conversations that sort of need to happen. Next chapter is better, I promise. It has Mithian!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Ambassador's Anxiety</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gwen wonders what the devil she was thinking.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter X: The Ambassador's Anxiety</p>
<p>Nemeth was a smaller kingdom than Camelot, less prosperous, with a more dispersed population. Its capital was roughly half the size of Camelot's, as was the castle before them. Gwen knew that. So why did the castle loom so large?</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" Sefa asked.</p>
<p>"This was a terrible idea," Gwen replied faintly. "This will be a disaster. What was I thinking?"</p>
<p>"…That you could help?" Gilli suggested.</p>
<p>"It's a bit late now," Isolde chirped. People were staring at her in mild disbelief, this woman in man's clothing, but she ignored them with the ease of long practice. Tristan, too, mostly ignored them, though he'd occasionally glare at someone who made a particularly loud comment. "We're almost there. I can see the inner walls." She pointed. Sure enough, their horses were rapidly approaching the castle gates.</p>
<p>Gwen was going to be sick.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" asked the bored guardsman functioning as the gatekeeper.</p>
<p>"Lady Guinevere of Camelot, along with her retinue," Sefa announced.</p>
<p>Gwen swallowed. Her throat was dry, her voice a bit scratchy as she stated, "We have a letter of introduction from His Majesty, King Arthur." She took it from her pouch, brandished it before the guard. Even if he wasn't literate (and he almost certainly wasn't), he would (hopefully) recognize the royal seal stamped at the bottom of the parchment. Sure enough, his eyes widened in surprise once they landed on it.</p>
<p>"Apologies, my lady," he said, bowing—bowing!—slightly to Gwen, correctly deducing her identity from her dress. "I did not know you were coming."</p>
<p>"Don't be sorry, goodman. We didn't send word ahead, so you had no way of knowing. It's a bit irregular." Well, that was one way to put it.</p>
<p>The guard fidgeted slightly. "Oh. In that case, my lady, I… there is a policy that unannounced, unfamiliar ambassadors must have their identities verified."</p>
<p>"Of course," Gwen agreed, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut. She didn't have papers of nobility. Would they demand those papers? Quiz her about her lineage? She would admit, if she was asked, that her family had only recently come to the 'nobility,' but that might undermine her credibility. No, it would definitely undermine her credibility. It would do more than that, it would get them all kicked out in disgrace.</p>
<p>Whatever they were going to do, she was definitely going to fail it. She couldn't pass for some blue-blooded noblewoman who had grown up rich and powerful with servants to attend her every whim and, and lands and titles and all sorts of things. She didn't even have a last name! (Granted, there were quite a few noble families who lacked surnames, but Gwen forgot that in her moments of panic.) She would get kicked out and humiliate herself and disappoint Arthur and—</p>
<p>Gwen closed her eyes, focused on her breathing. She could do that. She'd often guided Morgana through breathing exercises after a particularly harrowing nightmare. The quiet repetition of in-out in-out calmed her, made her think a bit more clearly.</p>
<p>By then, however, the Nemethi guardsman had returned. "The seal is legitimate, my lady," he announced. "His Majesty King Rodor apologizes for the inconvenience and thanks you for your patience."</p>
<p>Gwen positively beamed with relief. The seal, of course they'd just wanted to verify the seal. "As I said, goodman, it's no trouble at all. We were the ones who didn't send ahead. His Majesty is wise to beware of impostors."</p>
<p>The next part was one that Gwen must have seen a hundred times back at Camelot, though never from this perspective. The visiting noble (in this case, her. Somehow) was led to the throne room to be formally presented to the king and, usually, a good portion of his court. In this case, Rodor had called in two young men who must be his sons, several knights standing at attention, and a smattering of lords and ladies.</p>
<p>They were all staring at Gwen. All of them. Staring. Directly at her.</p>
<p>This was terrible, and terrifying, and she couldn't think like that. She'd seen this in Camelot. She knew what to do, she just had to do it.</p>
<p>Gwen strode forward on legs that somehow felt like jelly and like wood all at once. Her arms were rigid in a mostly successful attempt to keep her hands from shaking. She wanted to bow her head slightly, to hunch in a little, to make herself just a little smaller and less conspicuous in the presence of her betters like she had for Uther. But a lady wouldn't do that. A lady would at least look confident, like she knew what she was doing.</p>
<p>Hopefully they couldn't tell that her smile was forced.</p>
<p>Approach the throne. Stop within easy speaking distance but not too close. A curtsy, but not as deep as she would to her own king, spreading her red skirts in an elegant swish of fabric. Hold it for one heartbeat, two, three, then rise and announce yourself. "I am Guinevere, a lady of Camelot. His Majesty King Arthur has tasked me with visiting the allies of our kingdom in order to prepare for reworking certain treaties to be more beneficial to all of Albion." That was enough information for this preliminary introduction. Do <em>not</em> babble. Do. NOT. Babble. Bite your tongue if you have to—and she had to—but don't babble on like an overly anxious idiot and make a fool of yourself. Arthur's counting on you, and Merlin and Morgana and so many other people.</p>
<p>King Rodor was talking, giving a little speech remarkably similar to the ones that Uther had delivered to his guests. Nemeth was pleased to welcome the ambassador from Camelot, a banquet would be held in her honor that evening (Gwen couldn't stop herself from twitching, but hopefully it was slight enough that they didn't notice), and she would be shown to her chambers for rest and recuperation. Gwen's response was equally standardized. She thanked the king for his hospitality and indicated that she was looking forward to both the dinner and their discussions.</p>
<p>And then it was over. A maidservant, Hilde, led her and her little retinue to their rooms, then departed to fetch bathwater.</p>
<p>"Should we go get settled too?" Sefa wondered.</p>
<p>Gwen started. "Oh! Yes. Yes, you probably should."</p>
<p>It would be too strange to let Hilde help bathe her, so Gwen asked the girl to make certain that the rest of her party was tended to. Once she was gone, the former servant sank gratefully into the tub, her mind still reeling from the fact that the court hadn't laughed at her and tossed her out on her behind. Of course, she'd had exactly one interaction with them so far, and it had lasted for approximately five minutes. There was still time for all sorts of humiliating failures.</p>
<p>Sefa came back in when Gwen was mostly dressed. Her new, non-travel-stained outfit laced up in the back, so the druid girl helped tie it.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" Gwen asked her softly.</p>
<p>"…Yes. I've just… never been in such a big building before, and I've never seen so many guards." She shuddered.</p>
<p>Gwen considered. "Would you feel better if you knew your way around? Not that I expect you to memorize the layout of the entire castle, but maybe knowing more escape routes would help."</p>
<p>The girl nodded shyly, so Gwen checked in on the rest of her party, asking if they wanted to tour the castle before supper. Tristan and Isolde declined, but Gilli accepted with an eagerness that made Gwen wince. Sefa wasn't the only spellbinder nervous at being so close to a king.</p>
<p>There was a proper way to do these things—or at least there was in Camelot—so Gwen asked Hilde, who had returned just a minute ago, if there were any restrictions on visitors' movements. There weren't, so Hilde went off to find someone to give them the tour.</p>
<p>Gwen expected a low-ranking knight, perhaps a squire. Uther had sometimes used his son to guide particularly important guests, but he'd usually passed the duty onto a minor lord. (Once, while Arthur was sick with a winter chill, he'd had Merlin do it. That had… not been as much of a disaster as it could have been, but he'd still never done so again. To this day, he blamed the fever for that brief fit of madness.) It made sense that a minor, unknown lady with a small retinue and no surname would receive similar treatment. So Gwen was only a little surprised when a woman about Morgana's age in high-quality but unadorned clothing came to show them around.</p>
<p>"Lady Guinevere, yes?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she confirmed, "and these are Gilli and Sefa."</p>
<p>"Thia," their guide said, something sparking in her eyes.</p>
<p>"Thank you for doing this."</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>They began to walk, Gwen at Thia's side, Gilli and Sefa coming up behind. "We've heard some very interesting rumors about Camelot," the Nemethi lady commented.</p>
<p>Gwen winced. "I'm not surprised. The last few months have been <em>very</em> interesting."</p>
<p>"It makes me wonder what the future holds for your kingdom."</p>
<p>"Hopefully, peace, prosperity, and justice."</p>
<p>"Too bad that's more easily said than done."</p>
<p>"It will be better, though, under Arthur's rule. Uther was… not well, towards the end."</p>
<p>"He was mad." Thia, it seemed, was not one to mince words.</p>
<p>"He was mad," Gwen confirmed, "and the people suffered for it." Part of her wondered if she should speak so frankly, but it wasn't as though Uther's condition had been a secret. She'd helped spread word of his breakdown herself, both as a warning to those he would harm and as a way to undermine his credibility.</p>
<p>"But King Arthur is different, you say."</p>
<p>"Very different," Gwen agreed proudly. "He truly cares about the people, about making them safe, secure, and happy. He did as much as he could to alleviate the harm that Uther was causing." She sighed. "I just wish he hadn't needed to. Still, he is a good man and has the makings of a truly great king."</p>
<p>"I see." Thia glanced behind her at Sefa and Gilli. "And what do you two think?"</p>
<p>Gwen decided then and there that she liked this noblewoman.</p>
<p>"I agree with G—Lady Guinevere," Gilli stated. "King Arthur wants what's best for his people, not his own pride, and he's brave enough to do what's right in the face of a lot of opposition." Sefa, being shyer, nodded and murmured her agreement.</p>
<p>"Yes, doing what's right in the face of opposition. There are rumors about that, as well, but most of the court has dismissed them as utterly ridiculous. It will be good to hear from someone who actually knows Arthur's plans firsthand." She went silent then, an invitation.</p>
<p>Well, it wasn't like Gwen's purpose here was supposed to be a secret. "He wants what's best for <em>all</em> his people, including those with magic. If the rumors you've heard have to do with him befriending a warlock, discovering that his foster sister is a witch, and deciding to end the Purge, then they're true at their core. I can't confirm the details, though, since I suspect that they've grown a bit more outlandish since leaving the citadel."</p>
<p>"Yes, I <em>did</em> think that the one about him secretly marrying the princess of the druids was somewhat unlikely."</p>
<p>"What?" squeaked Sefa.</p>
<p>"…The druids don't even <em>have</em> a princess," Gwen felt obligated to point out.</p>
<p>Thia laughed. "I know that, but the gossips don't. You wouldn't believe some of the rumors that have been going around."</p>
<p>"I probably would," Gwen admitted ruefully. "There were quite a few in Camelot, too."</p>
<p>They spent the next several minutes laughing over the sillier stories that the four of them had heard, interspersed with brief snippets of Thia's tour. When they'd made a complete loop of the castle and wandered a bit through the grounds, the quartet returned to the Camelot delegation's quarters. Gwen invited Thia inside to continue their discussion, but the noblewoman declined, citing her need to get ready for the banquet. When Gwen told her that she looked forward to seeing her again, it was with complete sincerity.</p>
<p>"I suspect we'll speak some more at supper," Thia assured her, then strode off to make preparations.</p>
<p>Talking to Thia had done a great deal to alleviate Gwen's nerves. Although her anxiety was returning now that she was without distraction, it wasn't as bad as it had been as she approached the city. Of course, that would likely change when she went to dinner (gods, a banquet in <em>her</em> honor), but the former maid decided to enjoy her relative calm while it lasted.</p>
<p>Time passed slowly, but when the supper was about to begin, it felt like the last two or so hours had vanished in the blink of an eye. Gwen's stomach was doing unpleasant flips. She likely wouldn't be able to eat much. What if that offended them? What if they thought that she wasn't eating because she was turning her nose up at their hospitality and that set the tone for the rest of her stay? What if—</p>
<p>No, no, you've been over this before, Guinevere. Just breathe.</p>
<p>Gwen could barely make out the herald's words as he announced her. Only his silence told her when to make her way to the king's table. His sons sat on either side of him, the elder at his right hand and the younger at his left. Gwen was to sit beside the younger prince, because the seat next to the kingdom's heir was already occupied.</p>
<p>Thia smiled brightly at her. She'd changed into finer clothing embroidered with white and thread-of-gold, and a simple coronet rested on her dark hair. She wasn't the Crown Prince's wife, who was bedridden from a difficult first pregnancy. In fact, she looked quite a bit like the Crown Prince.</p>
<p>Not a low-ranking lady after all, Gwen thought with only a twinge of hysteria. Oh, she hoped she hadn't made a complete fool of herself in front of the <em>Princess of Nemeth</em>.</p>
<p>King Rodor was introducing them. "Lady Guinevere, these are my sons, Crown Prince Caradoc and Prince Meliodas, and my daughter, Princess Mithian." His lips twitched. "Though I believe you've already met her."</p>
<p>"You'll have to forgive me," said Mithian, not looking repentant at all. "I've found that it's easier to take peoples' measure if they think I'm only minor nobility at first."</p>
<p>"…I suppose it would be," Guinevere admitted. She didn't dare ask how she'd measured up.</p>
<p>The first course came in, providing a welcome distraction. Gwen still wasn't hungry, so she gave herself small portions, still worrying about whether or not it would make her look snobbish. Maybe this would be one of those times when she didn't realize how hungry she actually was until the first few bites hit her stomach.</p>
<p>It wasn't. Her belly remained full of berserking butterflies even after she began to eat.</p>
<p>There were certain formulaic pleasantries to be exchanged. Gwen and Rodor had gone through most of them when she'd arrived, but now they reiterated that they were pleased about this visit, that Camelot and Nemeth were bosom friends, that they would endeavor to benefit both their kingdoms. The former maid (who was being hosted by a king at a banquet held in <em>her</em> honor) thought that Rodor meant it, that he did want something which would make life easier for both their peoples. The realization (or perhaps hope) calmed her, opened a little more room for the second course.</p>
<p>Prince Caradoc had been watching the proceedings with badly veiled impatience. Gwen was unsurprised when, halfway through the second course, he said, "Arthur Pendragon intends to end the Purge and give power back to the sorcerers."</p>
<p>Thankfully, Gwen's mouth was full when he said that. Chewing and swallowing bought her a few moments to formulate a reply more eloquent than anxious ramblings. "You are partly correct, Your Highness. King Arthur does intend to end the Purge, but he has no intention of giving too much power to spellbinders. When I last spoke with him, he intended to reinstate the position of Court Mage, a leader for magic who would still be subject to the throne." As much as Merlin was 'subject' to anything, that is, but he didn't need to know that.</p>
<p>Caradoc was shaking his head. "We banned magic for a reason," he snapped.</p>
<p>"I know," Gwen admitted. "We did."</p>
<p>The prince hadn't expected that. "Then why the hell would Uther Pendragon's son want to bring it back?"</p>
<p>Gwen set her fork down. A distant part of her mind reflected that this was as good of an excuse for not eating much as any. "There are several reasons," she began slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. "The story that he grew up with—that we all grew up with, back in Camelot—is that King Uther realized that magic was inherently evil and corruptive after the last Court Mage, a witch named Nimueh, murdered Queen Ygraine. Learning magic was a choice made by greedy, selfish people who quickly lost themselves to vindictive, hateful madness."</p>
<p>Caradoc was nodding impatiently, making a gesture that ordered Gwen to get straight to the point.</p>
<p>She obliged. "But over the last year or so, King Arthur discovered all sorts of evidence that the public narrative wasn't true. He heard all those stories about spellbinders saving people from bandits and blessing fields and such. He learned from… from Gaius, our old Court Physician, that some people just… became magical, and there's nothing they can do about it."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, 'became magical'?" Mithian cut in.</p>
<p>Gwen pulled up short. She hadn't expected this detour, but it was probably inevitable. She opened her mouth to respond, but King Rodor beat her to it. "There are two ways to gain magic," he recalled, his gaze distant. "Some are born with the ability to channel it and only need to learn control. Others have to learn how to access magic before they can start on spells." His brow furrowed. "I'd almost forgotten that. Tell me, Lady Guinevere, what are the terms for it all?"</p>
<p>"Magic users in general are called spellbinders. Sorcerers and sorceresses aren't born with magic, and witches and warlocks are." She hesitated a moment, then, daring, added, "Like I said, the Court Physician was a sorcerer. He gave up magic when the Purge began, so Uther allowed him to live. Merlin, Arthur's former manservant, is a warlock, and Lady Morgana, Arthur's foster sister, is a witch."</p>
<p>"Have you met them?" Meliodas inquired. The younger prince was about fourteen or fifteen, Gwen thought, or sixteen at the most. He spoke as though Gwen's friends were fascinating mythical creatures—which, she realized with bemusement, they sort of were.</p>
<p>"I have, yes." Then, because it was going to come out anyways, and most of the royals present seemed receptive, she added, "I met Merlin shortly after he arrived in Camelot—he's Essetiri by birth—and Morgana has been one of my dearest friends for many years now."</p>
<p>"<em>What</em>?" demanded Caradoc.</p>
<p>Oh, gods, this was a mistake. She'd ruined everything, they were going to kick her out, she—</p>
<p>"Whoa," said Meliodas, starry-eyed. "Did you ever see them do magic? Did they ever turn someone into a toad?"</p>
<p>"Yes, were you privy to their crimes?" sneered his brother.</p>
<p>Tread carefully. "I… never heard about them turning people into toads. I'm fairly certain that neither actually knows how. At least, they didn't when I saw them last. They might have learned by now." Gwen realized that she was blathering and reeled in her instinct to keep going in that vein. "As for whether I saw them use magic, have… you heard the story of how Lady Morgana was exposed as a witch?" They had. "I was there that night."</p>
<p>Caradoc narrowed his eyes. "Did you know before?"</p>
<p>Gwen took a sip of wine in a pathetically transparent attempt to buy time. "Morgana had dreams," she finally confessed once she could delay no more. "Horrible nightmares. Sometimes, she would wake screaming. Eventually, she and I… began to notice that her dreams came true." Gwen stared at her wine, at her reflection. "It wasn't anything she had asked for, wasn't anything she could control. They just… came to her, and she was so, so frightened of what meant to have prophetic dreams in Camelot. She knew that if Uther found out, it wouldn't matter that she was his ward. He would have her burnt at the stake for magic that she didn't want."</p>
<p>"She could have learned it from that servant," Caradoc speculated.</p>
<p>That was, in fact, exactly what had happened, but only after Morgana's other powers began to manifest.</p>
<p>"Why would anyone want to become a sorceress in <em>Camelot</em>?" Mithian demanded. "Especially after King Uther's nose."</p>
<p>"She was his ward, though. She must have felt that she could get away with it."</p>
<p>"A ward is not an heir, and they say that he'd even put Arthur in the dungeons when they fought." Mithian glanced at Gwen, who nodded. It wasn't very often, but it had happened. "If he could do that to the Crown Prince, he could have done much worse to a lady who wasn't his daughter."</p>
<p>Gwen did not mention that Morgana was, in fact, Uther's daughter by blood. They hadn't known that until relatively late, so it hadn't affected their decision-making process. Also, they didn't want this little fact to become public knowledge, more for Morgana's sake than to protect what was left of Uther's reputation.</p>
<p>The siblings were staring at her now, presumably waiting for more information, so Gwen obligingly started telling them about the last time Arthur had been imprisoned, right up until Morgana's almost-wedding.</p>
<p>Caradoc stared at her doubtfully, then looked back at his father. "We're certain that her copy of the royal seal is genuine? That she is a credible witness to the things she said occurred?"</p>
<p>Oh, no. <em>Oh, no</em>. Any second now, they'd ask for her papers of nobility, further proof of her identity, which she didn't have and had never had because she'd been born a peasant, and if they found that out <em>now</em>, she'd lose all credibility.</p>
<p>"We have no reason to disbelieve it," Rodor answered. "And remember, Caradoc, I've met Uther. This sort of behavior is… not completely out of character for him."</p>
<p>That was when the third course came, shifting conversation back to food and hospitality. But Caradoc kept glancing at Gwen as though wondering who she really was, what her real goals were. Gwen tried to ignore him, to converse with Princess Mithian and Prince Meliodas and their royal father, but she couldn't. Not completely.</p>
<p>She'd been expecting people like him. If anything, Rodor's open-mindedness was much more of a surprise.</p>
<p>That didn't bring her appetite back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Mithian Goes on a Secret Undercover Mission Before the Dramatic Reveal of her True Identity"</p>
<p>Next chapter: January 29. Arthur and Gwaine develop their acting skills.</p>
<p>...This next bit has nothing to do with fic and everything to do with American current events. Does anyone know of any resources for civilians who want to help prevent a repeat of Wednesday? Letter-writing, sabotage, even just somewhere to donate to. I have to do something, even if it's just a little.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Exiles of Essetir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Backstory/worldbuilding and a unicorn. What more could anyone want?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XI: The Exiles of Essetir</p>
<p>In retrospect, Arthur really ought to have listened to Gwaine when he requested to not let Caerleon come to dinner that evening. He definitely shouldn't have sent someone to bring the knight back after he made his excuses and escaped early, because Gwaine had seen something that Arthur had not—or, rather, that he hadn't understood. The king had noticed that Caerleon kept glancing in confusion at one of his knights, but honestly, Arthur sort of assumed that Gwaine had done something foolish in a Caerleoni tavern and/or that he'd gotten himself arrested in that kingdom. That, quite frankly, should have been reason enough to let the drunk slither away. But Arthur was stressed, he wanted all his men around him, and he felt that Caerleon was unlikely to make the connection between some random wanderer and a respectable, presumably noble-born knight of Camelot.</p>
<p>Arthur was wrong.</p>
<p>It happened a few minutes after Gwaine returned, slinking into his seat like it was the cart to his execution. Cenred made some offhanded comment about old King Loth out in the Orkneys. Caerleon jerked upright, a triumphant "Aha!" escaping his lips.</p>
<p>Pretty much everyone at the upper table turned to stare at him. He was smiling at Gwaine in a distinctly predatory manner. Arthur groaned quietly, preparing himself to apologize for whatever drunken shenanigans his knight had gotten up to, but Caerleon said nothing. He was probably waiting to drop whatever he'd learned in the negotiations, where he could use it to (try to) wring concessions out of Camelot. Marvelous.</p>
<p>Gwaine better not have skipped town without paying for whatever damages he'd caused, Arthur reflected sourly as conversation resumed.</p>
<p>So after dinner, he called Gwaine in for a private meeting. The miserable sod dragged his heels and refused to meet his king's gaze and generally behaved in a highly guilty fashion.</p>
<p>He might as well get to the point. "What did you do?"</p>
<p>"…Do, sire?"</p>
<p>Gods, he actually sounded <em>sincere</em> when using Arthur's title. It was worse than he'd thought.</p>
<p>"In Caerleon," the king clarified.</p>
<p>"I've never been to Caerleon in my life."</p>
<p>"Then, what, did he encounter you somewhere outside his kingdom?"</p>
<p>"I don't think so," was the miserable response. "I mean, I might have seen him as a little kid, but…." His jaw tightened. "He's going to threaten to use me to drive a wedge between you and Cenred. You know that I grew up in the Orkneys, right? My mother and father were Essetiri by birth, and they went with King Loth to the islands. My father died in that stupid disaster of a war where Loth tried to invade Caerleon as a staging ground to retake Essetir. He'll probably say that I'm one of Loth's spies. Cenred might believe that or he might not, but he'll act like he believes it to wring concessions out of you. But—I'm not a spy, Arthur. I haven't had anything to do with my family in the Orkneys for—it must be three or four years now. I'm not a spy."</p>
<p>"I believe you," Arthur assured him, "but how would Caerleon even know that your parents were loyal to Loth? I can sometimes detect the barest hint of an Orkneys accent in the way you speak, but that's hardly damning evidence of espionage." Internally, he reflected that it was no wonder Gwaine had never liked Uther and was so uncomfortable around Cenred if their family had driven his into exile.</p>
<p>Somehow, impossibly, Gwaine looked even shiftier. "Strong family resemblances," he mumbled.</p>
<p>"Strong family resemblances," Arthur repeated. "Well, I'm hardly surprised that your father was a great enough warrior that Caerleon remembers him ten years later. You've clearly inherited his skill."</p>
<p>Gwaine mumbled something incomprehensible that might have been an expression of gratitude. Clearly he needed more reassurance.</p>
<p>"Look, even if Caerleon claims that you're in cahoots with Loth, he can hardly prove it." That didn't work. Why wasn't it working? "Cenred might claim to believe you're a spy, but without better proof than your father serving the man ten years ago, it will be easy to dismiss his words." It was still not working. "If I'm not mistaken, quite a few of Loth's followers went back to Essetir after he failed to invade Caerleon. If anything, you'd be a spy for Cenred."</p>
<p>Gwaine choked on a hollow laugh.</p>
<p>"…What aren't you telling me?" Arthur asked slowly. "Have you been sending word to your family? Because there's a difference between telling one's relatives that one has become a knight and giving sensitive information to Loth."</p>
<p>But Gwaine was shaking his head, his gaze averted. "Not as much of a difference as you'd think."</p>
<p>"What's <em>that</em> supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"It means that—look, I haven't given away anything dangerous or important, I'm really careful about that, but I've written my mother and sister a couple times since you knighted me." (Gwaine was literate?) "You know, 'I'm a knight now, Uther wants me dead but I'm fine.' That sort of thing. But they're still on good terms with Lot, because he's the one who stopped Grandfather from marrying Mother off again, and he <em>has</em> to be on good terms with Grandfather because he's the bloody heir, so he might have mentioned it to him, I don't know, and Cenred—he probably knows about the falling out, but he can claim that it was a lie or something, and that I really <em>am</em> here <em>for</em> Grandfather and not to avoid him."</p>
<p>Arthur goggled at him, mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to squawk, "<em>Grandfather</em>?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," was Gwaine's unhappy confirmation. "Loth's my grandfather, the Crown Prince is my uncle, and my mother refused to be married off again for politics after the love of her life died for her father's ambition, so she was pretty much disowned. But apparently I'm the spitting image of Loth at this age, him and Lot too, and also a couple of my cousins on that side of the family. Caerleon probably doesn't know exactly who I am, but he recognized my bloodline."</p>
<p>"So… you're telling me that Caerleon and Cenred can spin your presence to make it look like you're definitely here for your <em>grandfather</em>. Who is a king."</p>
<p>"Or worse," Gwaine admitted. "They could say that you knew all along who I'm related to and that me being here means you support Grandfather's claim to Essetir."</p>
<p>It was a good thing that Arthur was already sitting, or he'd have fallen over at that. "Tell me you're joking."</p>
<p>"I wish I could!" The knight was almost tearing at his hair in frustration. "I don't know how to fix this, Arthur. The only thing I can think of is keeping Caerleon away from Cenred, but that's more of a stopgap than anything else. Caerleon can always start spreading rumors or invite Cenred over for politics and biscuits."</p>
<p>Arthur didn't hide his face in his hands, but it was a near thing. Cenred was already obligated to redress from Camelot due to the broken betrothal with Morgana. If he pitched it like Arthur was actively plotting against him with a representative of the previous dynasty…. Camelot would win in a war, but how many would die? Then there was Amata to remember, because Sarrum would pounce the moment he sensed weakness.</p>
<p>No wonder Gwaine was so distressed. This was a disaster in the making.</p>
<p>"Right," the king said, grabbing at his scattered thoughts, "right. We need to figure out what to do. Get the other knights."</p>
<p>Gwaine was out the door almost before Arthur finished speaking.</p>
<p>Now, alone, Arthur allowed himself to sink into his hands. Gods. Gods, he wished his father was still alive to deal with this—except he'd probably just have Gwaine executed, so never mind that. (A familiar pang at the reminder of what Uther Pendragon had been, buried for later after a moment's acknowledgement.) So never mind that.</p>
<p>He wished that Merlin was there, or Guinevere or Morgana. Even if they didn't have a solution, they could at least make him feel better, make the situation seem a little less bleak.</p>
<p>But the others had their own tasks, and he had his knights. They would think of something.</p>
<p>They had to.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Merlin hadn't realized how much the Dark Tower was draining him until its malicious presence was gone.</p>
<p>It wasn't just that the stab wound had healed almost completely, leaving behind a vivid scar that only pulled a little when he stretched too far with a faint red swelling around it. Merlin appreciated not being in constant low-grade physical pain (although he <em>did</em> still get odd stomachaches at night, they just didn't compare), don't get him wrong, but the Tower had affected more than just his body.</p>
<p>His new-freed thoughts felt faster, lighter, even brighter, somehow. His magic flowed with more ease, replenished more quickly and completely. In fact, he was fairly certain that he was more powerful now than he'd ever been before, likely as a consequence of the land-bond. While Listeneise was still drawing from him, still healing, it was a more efficient process without the Dark Tower siphoning off power for its own use.</p>
<p>Merlin's mood was also quite improved, but that might just have been because he'd recovered more quickly than expected and was about to strike a blow for magic.</p>
<p>It was Monday. He and nearly a dozen others were even now preparing to teleport to their chosen campsite. They'd all seen it in the scrying bowls, they could all visualize it well enough to ride the whirlwind there (though not everyone had the strength or knowledge for teleportation. About half of them were piggybacking off someone more powerful and/or experienced).</p>
<p>"You're absolutely certain you're up for this?" Morgana asked him for the twenty millionth time.</p>
<p>"I told you, I'm fine. Promise."</p>
<p>"But you'll let Alator set up the wards," she reminded him.</p>
<p>"I will," he assured her, just as he had all the other times they'd had this exact conversation.</p>
<p>Perhaps a bit more of Merlin's annoyance than he'd wanted to show slipped through in his voice. Morgana grinned ruefully. "Sorry," she said, a little embarrassed. "I know you'll be fine. I just don't want anything to go wrong."</p>
<p>He took her hand, entwining their fingers. As always, the action made a little thrill flutter in his belly. "That's why everyone's been practicing their aim, right?"</p>
<p>"We have," she agreed, "and I at least have gotten a lot better." Her lips twitched. "The poor volunteers, though."</p>
<p>"They knew what they were getting into when they offered to be targets," Merlin chuckled. "I still wish I could have seen that."</p>
<p>One of the unicorns—Merlin thought it was Cloudmane, but they all looked alike to him—pranced over to them, her horn casting rainbows all over the ground. The witch and warlock reached out to stroke her soft starfall mane, each marveling that she allowed it. Possibly-Cloudmane watched them with her liquid-night eyes, then tossed her head as if to point.</p>
<p>"Ready, Alator?" Merlin called.</p>
<p>"Ready, Lord Embries," the Catha confirmed.</p>
<p>"I'm still not a—" But the other spellbinders were teleporting away already. The combined noise of their incantations and the racing winds drowned out the rest of Merlin's protest—not that anybody but Morgana and possibly-Cloudmane were here to hear it.</p>
<p>"—lord," Merlin finished anyways, much more huffily than he'd begun.</p>
<p>Morgana looked like she was trying not to laugh at him. The unicorn, however, held no such compunctions. She had the gall to <em>roll her eyes</em> at him.</p>
<p>Merlin glared. Possibly-Cloudmane remained unrepentant.</p>
<p>"Let's go before they think we got lost," Morgana suggested. Yes, that was definitely suppressed laughter in her voice. Merlin graciously opted not to comment.</p>
<p>A few words later, and they were there. It was an ordinary patch of woodland: tall trees whose leaves blotted out most of the sky, a little brook to the east, soft moss on the ground. The others were already working on their chosen tasks. Alator and Morgause were ringing the campsite with wards, while everyone else was setting out tents. They didn't have many—shelter of any kind was in short supply since they'd lost the Isle, and other people needed it more than they did—but it would be enough if they all crowded together.</p>
<p>"Looks like rain," Merlin observed, glancing upwards. What little sky he could see through the leaves was a heavy, ominous gray, and the air was thick with humidity. They still had a couple of hours before the sun went down, and the warlock suspected that the clouds would start to empty shortly after night fell.</p>
<p>"Not a storm, though," Morgana agreed. "Heavy, but there shouldn't be any lightning."</p>
<p>"Which is perfect," Merlin chuckled. "You hear that, Cloudmane?"</p>
<p>The unicorn stared at him, utterly unimpressed, and sauntered off to inspect the moss.</p>
<p>Merlin decided to take that as a yes.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"I don't like this," Gwaine muttered as he and Arthur made their way to lunch with Cenred. "What if he says yes?"</p>
<p>"Then King Loth or your mother can put a stop to it," Arthur reiterated. "The important thing is that Cenred can't claim that we're conspiring against him. Remember, you already sent your explanation to the Orkneys. Your relatives who you actually care about will know that you're not actually betraying them, and if Loth says otherwise, they can show him proof. We're bluffing, Gwaine. That's all."</p>
<p>"I know that. I just really, really do not like it. At all."</p>
<p>"Your dislike has been noted," the king sighed. "I don't like it either, but none of us could think of anything better, and we have to act before Caerleon gets the word out."</p>
<p>Gwaine heaved a dramatic sigh but didn't start complaining again. It's the small victories, Arthur told himself.</p>
<p>Cenred was waiting for them at the table, a half-full goblet already in his hand. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Gwaine, who, as far as he knew (unless he was a much better actor than they'd thought) was just an ordinary peasant-turned-knight, but he didn't comment.</p>
<p>"Did you recall, King Cenred, what we discussed shortly before my coronation?"</p>
<p>"We spoke of many things, I'm afraid. You'll have to be more specific."</p>
<p>"You requested that Camelot assist you in finding a new bride, as Lady Morgana is no longer available. Sir Gwaine and I might have come up with an idea."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>Gwaine's smile was… passable. Yes, that was a good word for it. "There's still people in Essetir who support my bastard grandfather," he said, as though he thought that Cenred had known his true identity all along. "Well, my mother and our part of the family had a falling-out with him years ago, but I've got a sister who's still of his blood. Marrying her would shut up a lot of dissidents."</p>
<p>Cenred very clearly had no idea what Gwaine was talking about. "Marry a peasant girl?" he choked.</p>
<p>"A peasant?" Arthur exclaimed, hearty with fake shock.</p>
<p>"What? No!" cried Gwaine, equally 'stunned.' "Of course not. My mother is Princess Gwyar of the Orkneys, daughter of King Loth. My sister's name is Clarissant."</p>
<p>Cenred had <em>not</em> expected that. "What?"</p>
<p>"I, uh, think that he didn't actually know," Arthur said to Gwaine.</p>
<p>"Really? But I look just like my awful grandfather and Uncle Lot!"</p>
<p>Gwaine was laying it on too thick, so Arthur kicked him under the table. The knight shot him a brief but filthy glare while Cenred was still distracted by his shock, then plastered on an expression of concern. "Sorry about that. I really did think you knew."</p>
<p>Cenred's eyes narrowed. He stared intently at Gwaine as though parsing his features. Did he actually know what Loth's family looked like? He'd been a boy when Uther gave Essetir to his father, uninvolved in the conquest. Then again, there had probably been a few portraits in the castle when they arrived, or statues of the past kings. If the family resemblance was that strong between Gwaine and his grandfather, it probably stretched back for a few more generations.</p>
<p>Then the other king was glaring murder at Arthur, even swelling up with outrage. "You've been sheltering one of Loth's heirs?" he spat.</p>
<p>"Of course not."</p>
<p>"Of course not! Grandfather pretty much disowned me when I went onto the road."</p>
<p>"And yet, I have no doubt he would bring you back if you brought a fair enough gift."</p>
<p>"You make it sound like I want to go back," Gwaine snorted. "Trust me, I don't want anything to do with that old bastard. Neither do Mother or my sister. Clarissant would love a chance to stick it to him." An exaggeration, from what he'd told Arthur, but it had good production value.</p>
<p>"And, as we were saying, marrying her would nicely silence whatever nobles still secretly yearn for Loth's return," Arthur said, changing the subject before an argument could erupt.</p>
<p>Cenred's mouth twisted. "But marrying her would simultaneously serve to legitimate Loth's claim to <em>my</em> throne." He looked at Gwaine during the emphasis, clearly daring him to comment, but was disappointed when the knight kept his silence.</p>
<p>"Not necessarily. You could frame it as making peace with the Orkneys rather than you wedding the granddaughter of your father's predecessor."</p>
<p>"Essetir and the Orkneys have been at peace for a decade," the other king sneered.</p>
<p>"Technically, yes," Gwaine acknowledged, "but we all know that Grandfather would attack you in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it."</p>
<p>Arthur fought back a grin. Well done, Gwaine, casually 'betraying' something that should have been classified information but was actually obvious to anyone with a lick of common sense. Well done indeed.</p>
<p>Cenred centered himself. "Yes, he would," he noted coldly. "I find it strange that you would treat with a member of that family, cousin." There was a very faint emphasis on the kinship term, a reminder that their nations were, ostensibly, allies; that Loth was supposed to be an enemy.</p>
<p>Arthur did his best to look blank and baffled. "Sir Gwaine wants nothing to do with King Loth."</p>
<p>"I don't," his knight confirmed. "I really, really don't. He's terrible. D'you know what he did to my mother?" And without waiting for an answer, he launched into the whole sordid story: how Loth had refused to support his mourning daughter after her husband, a scion of a relatively lower-ranking family with close ties to Loth's queen, died in Caerleon. Instead, he'd demanded that she remarry so that he could make another attempt at reclaiming Essetir, starting a third war and getting more people killed. As a bonus, he even recounted the woeful events in the same style that he used for his tavern tales, a style which made most sense when narrator and listener were both drunk.</p>
<p>Arthur knew all the details already, so he was free to ignore Gwaine's words in favor of Cenred's reactions. The other king remained carefully blank-faced as he listened. Not ideal, but at least he wasn't hurling accusations at them.</p>
<p>That was the point, really. If Gwaine's heritage was going to come out, then it was better to control the narrative, to spill the beans before Cenred could accuse them of secrecy, lies, and conspiracy. Whether or not he believed them, he wouldn't be able to press Camelot for concessions over this, not when they'd given themselves so much plausible deniability. That was the entire point: heading him off at the pass, preventing the blow before he so much as thought to strike.</p>
<p>It wasn't until Gwaine ended his story with a swig of wine that Cenred spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't mention this when we met on the night of Arthur's coronation."</p>
<p>Arthur froze. He hadn't heard about this incident. Oh, gods, let this not destroy everything.</p>
<p>"We talked then?" asked Gwaine blankly. "I… don't actually remember that. Lots of good alcohol that night, if you know what I mean." He smiled his brightest, most disarming smile, then changed it to something more alarmed. "I didn't try to make you sing with me, did I?"</p>
<p>"…You did not."</p>
<p>Was it just Arthur's imagination, or was Cenred starting to relax?</p>
<p>"Oh, good. So, now that you know everything, what do you say about marrying my sister?"</p>
<p>"I will take it under consideration," declared the King of Essetir, which was a political euphemism for <em>no</em>. (Uther had taught him that, Arthur remembered with a little pang.)</p>
<p>Gwaine shrugged, languid, relaxed. "All right. Just tell me if that changes so I can help." He flashed his disingenuous smile once again.</p>
<p>Cenred nodded before turning his attention more fully to his lunch. Gwaine launched into a tavern tale. Arthur hid a grin as Cenred's eye twitched slightly.</p>
<p>They'd taken care of one threat. Others lurked, waiting to devour him, but this was a victory. Minor, perhaps, but a victory all the same.</p>
<p>He'd take it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Gwaine Weaponizes his Terrible Storytelling Abilities and Arthur is Both Impressed and Annoyed by how Effective it is"</p>
<p>Next chapter: February 19. The raid on the oubliette.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Oubliette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jailbreak time!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XII: Oubliette</p>
<p>Months ago, in a little village in Essetir, Morgana had internalized a truth that all the old warriors spoke about: waiting is the worst part. Battle was terrible, yes, but you could <em>do</em> things then. You could fight, you could charge, you could even run away as fast as humanly possible. There was a freedom, a relief, in motion, in not having time to think.</p>
<p>But while waiting, the mind turned in on itself. It whispered of everything that could go wrong, of everything that you could lose. It dragged seconds into minutes into hours, it made fighters-to-be snappish and resentful, it made them toss and turn in their pallets at night until they finally got up for a brief, restless walk beneath the rain.</p>
<p>Morgana knew better than to wander too far from the camp. They had no fire, nothing that would draw attention to them. The only shape she could really make out was the pale silhouette of their unicorn, whose crystal horn caught and magnified what scant light there was. The witch circled their campsite three times, hands in front of her to keep from walking into a tree, before fumbling her way back to her bedroll.</p>
<p>She had not exorcised her nerves at all, and now she was wet. The walk was probably not one of her better ideas.</p>
<p>There was a little rock beneath her shoulder blades. Morgana wiggled a little, dug it out. She turned onto her side in a failed attempt at comfort. She turned onto her other side.</p>
<p>This fear was stupid. She knew, intellectually, that their mission would be a success. They had the element of surprise. They'd prepared, practiced, scouted out the location for hours. Most importantly, they actually had something worth fighting for.</p>
<p>Morgana flopped onto her back.</p>
<p>At some point that night, she must have fallen into a dreamless doze, because she opened her eyes to see Alator moving about the camp and realized that day had broken. It was a gray, drizzly day, yes, but there was enough light to see by.</p>
<p>The raiding party went through their morning routines in near-silence, speaking only for things like "Excuse me" or "More porridge, please." Morgana was still afraid, but less so than she'd been last night. Perhaps it was because she was doing something, however small, rather than lying around trying too hard to fall asleep. Or perhaps seeing everyone else's anxiety made her feel just a little bit braver.</p>
<p>Breakfast lasted an entire eternity, but it was over in the blink of an eye. Soon they were rising to their feet, checking their weapons one last time, slinking into formation. They knew the route to the pit, so they didn't need to discuss directions. They walked in silence, padding along the soft moss.</p>
<p>Their first priority was to secure the barracks, prevent the torturers in the pit from receiving reinforcements. A crude iron lock was its only defense.</p>
<p>Merlin whispered a spell of invisibility, strode forward.</p>
<p>The barracks didn't have anyone posted at its door, but the entrance to the hellhole was 'protected' by a pair of bored men in Amatan livery. They were guarding their post in the loosest sense of the word, meaning that they were physically present and armed, but neither was paying attention to anything other than the dampness in the air, the mud beneath their feet, and the simple comradery of complaining about these things with a like-minded individual.</p>
<p>Even if they'd been paying attention to the barracks door, Merlin could literally pause time. He did so before unlocking and slipping through the entrance.</p>
<p>"<em>I'm good</em>," he assured them a few moments later. "<em>The night shift is all asleep. Keep going</em>."</p>
<p>Morgause had claimed the right of striking the first blow. Nobody had denied her; this entire assault was her idea, and she had the power and skill to fell these two men without giving away their position. One moment, the guards were grumbling with self-pity. The next, they were collapsing into the mud.</p>
<p>The priestess allowed herself a small, triumphant smile as their group continued forward. Morgana smiled at her, nodded acknowledgement.</p>
<p>The pit was shaped a bit like a gigantic underground jellyfish. At its center was a massive hole in the ground with raw, unfinished walls and a single wooden staircase. About thirty feet down, a narrow earthen ring hugged the perimeter, beaten down over the years into a hard dirt trail and covered in slats. The hole technically extended further down, but that was more to catch rain than anything else. Indeed, last night's rain had changed it into a brown pond.</p>
<p>A half-dozen short tunnels branched out from the entryway. These halls were angled slightly upward, their walls and ceilings reinforced with wood. They led to a series of iron-barred cells circling around a central area filled with implements of torture.</p>
<p>Someone was crying. Morgana could hear their wracking sobs. She clenched her fists, rage boiling away fear.</p>
<p>They split into groups, two people per tunnel. Morgana was partnered with one of the Catha women, a grim, scar-faced warrior called Sionan. They'd been assigned the southeastern tunnel. No one was weeping down there, but Morgana thought she heard the sharp crack of a whip.</p>
<p>She bared her teeth, nails digging into her hands.</p>
<p>The good thing about an innocent man being tortured was that all the guards were distracted. Morgana and Sionan held a quick, silent conversation about who would hex which guard, then acted. Their sleep spells zoomed out in quick succession, striking their targets and knocking them down.</p>
<p>"<em>North is secure."</em> One of the other groups had finished just a few seconds before them.</p>
<p>"<em>Southeast is secure," </em>Morgana announced, sending the information to every spellbinder in range. She and Sionan darted forward. The Catha, being more experienced with magic, went to the poor man tied to the whipping post. Morgana began unlocking cells, flinging open their doors with her own magic.</p>
<p>Southwest was the next to check in, then northwest, then south. There were a few tense moments when northeast didn't send word, but then the announcement came. The entire complex was safe.</p>
<p>When Uther had captured the Great Dragon, he'd ordered his kingdom's entire supply of magic-restraining shackles to be melted down into a single heavy chain. It was a symbolic gesture, his way of declaring victory over the forces he so despised.</p>
<p>Sarrum had not captured any dragons, so his supply of enchanted manacles remained mostly intact. Oh, a few had worn out or been destroyed over the years, but there were still enough to outfit every cell in this miserable, loathsome hellhole with a single pair. These chains couldn't be removed by magic, only by the proper keys.</p>
<p>The keys were stored in the barracks. Merlin would have found them by now.</p>
<p>Thought-speech buzzed in Morgana's head. The teams were reporting numbers, injuries, illness, anybody who would need healing before they could be moved. Twenty-six cells out of thirty had been occupied. Of those twenty-six prisoners, seventeen were particularly ill and nine were too weak to be transported.</p>
<p>All of them had blisters and open sores circling their wrists. Several were infected, and one poor individual was beginning to develop gangrene. Without powerful healing magic, he would need to be amputated.</p>
<p>"<em>I'll bring Cloudmane to him, first, then</em>," Merlin said.</p>
<p>Morgana spent the next few minutes speaking softly to the prisoners, bringing them food and water and reminding them not to gulp it down all at once. They were all of them too thin, too pale, with tremors in their hands and shadows in their eyes. Two seemed almost entirely broken, unresponsive when she asked for their names, taking their little meals without thought or comment.</p>
<p>(Gods, she <em>hoped</em> that Sarrum declared war against Camelot. Let him give Arthur an excuse to knock him off his throne, let him be punished for what he'd done here.)</p>
<p>Merlin arrived, keys in hand, and began the work of freeing the prisoners. Then, when the manacles lay on the floor, he gathered them together into a pile, pointed his staff at them.</p>
<p>Beothaich's crystal shone like the rising sun. The air around them thickened with something more than humidity. Merlin spoke a single word, and a bolt of pure destructive energy leapt from his stave to the chains.</p>
<p>The chains had been built to withstand magic, but Merlin was Emrys. He played by a different set of rules.</p>
<p>"Are you tired?" Morgana asked him. He'd staggered a little, his hand automatically seeking his belly.</p>
<p>"A little," he admitted, "but not much. I can destroy the next batch, but I think I'll wait on the rest. Save some magic for healing, you know."</p>
<p>"Good." It was about time he learned to pace himself.</p>
<p>Now that the prisoners' manacles were gone, Morgana and Sionan began tending to their ravaged wrists.</p>
<p>"No, no," rasped one of the men. His voice cracked from thirst, so Sionan offered him a bit more water. He swallowed twice, then panted, "There are more of them. They have a barracks where there's more of them."</p>
<p>"No, there aren't," Sionan consoled him. "Lord Embries took care of them."</p>
<p>A murmur went around the room. "Embries?" whispered a woman. "Emrys?"</p>
<p>"The one who saved Uther's son," a third victim spat.</p>
<p>"The Promised One," the woman whispered in awe. Her eyes were very bright; if she'd been more hydrated, she might have wept. "The one who will save us all." She stared down the tunnel where Merlin was gone. "Was that—was <em>he</em>—?"</p>
<p>"Yes," Morgana confirmed. She raised her voice to address everyone. "We have a plan. Today, we'll stay here and rest, heal you as well as we can. Tomorrow, those of you who are strong enough will be teleported to our base in Listeneise." She felt no need to mention that Listeneise was better known as the Perilous Lands. Not all of the victims looked entirely… present… and she wasn't certain if she could get across that they really wouldn't be in any danger there (unless they left the city and stumbled across a nest of wyverns or something). "The rest of us will shelter in the barracks until the mages have enough energy for more teleportation."</p>
<p>"Why not now?"</p>
<p>"So our magic can recover."</p>
<p>"What if they come before then?"</p>
<p>Morgana smiled grimly. "Then we fight."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Other than the nightmares of being declared a fraud, getting banned from Nemeth, and thereby sparking a war, Gwen's ambassadorial mission was going rather well. Mithian and Rodor appeared to actively like her, Meliodas is at least not opposed, and the rest of the court is following the royal family's lead. Unfortunately, that royal family also included Caradoc, the Crown Prince, so there was a bit of a split, but it was nothing she hadn't expected. They'd always known that bringing magic back would be controversial.</p>
<p>Her first full day in Nemeth, Gwen had asked the archivist to carry out some research for her. Arthur had told her through Morgana's dream-world (which she still couldn't access whenever she wanted, but her success rate was much improved) about Sir Geoffrey's statistics. Gwen suspected that Nemeth's numbers would be less drastic than Camelot's—Rodor had sense enough to prioritize stopping banditry—but any changes would help prove her point.</p>
<p>(She wished she had an excuse to provide Camelot's statistics, but she could hardly explain that she was in magical communication with Arthur and two known spellbinders at least twice a week. No need to push Nemeth's acceptance too far.)</p>
<p>The records keeper was a stout old man who reminded Gwen very much of Sir Geoffrey. He seemed downright eager to help her, but when Gwen asked why, he didn't actually answer with anything except a sad smile.</p>
<p>"He probably knew someone," Isolde pointed out that evening when Gwen told her retinue about the incident. "If he was at court before the Purge, he would have at least seen the Court Mage a few times." She leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping the table. "You know, I bet that most of the older courtiers remember the Court Mage."</p>
<p>"You think I should make them remember."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>Gwen nodded. "I'm having lunch with Mithian and her ladies tomorrow. Perhaps I should ask them about the last Court Mage."</p>
<p>Tristan chuckled. "Hopefully they were actually likeable. Wouldn't it be terrible if everyone hated the Court Mage and was glad to see them go?"</p>
<p>Isolde elbowed her lover. "Then she'll just have to ask about other spellbinders, <em>obviously</em>."</p>
<p>Tristan elbowed her back.</p>
<p>Gwen interceded before they could start play-wrestling in earnest.</p>
<p>But it was a good idea. So the next day, as she sat by Mithian and several other ladies in Princess Angharad's chambers, she asked one of the older, more gossipy women about what their last Court Mage had been like.</p>
<p>All conversation stopped immediately. Gwen and Angharad, who was Caerleoni by birth, exchanged confused looks that communicated, respectively, <em>What did I do wrong?</em> and <em>I have no idea</em>.</p>
<p>"…She was my sister," Lady Telyn finally said.</p>
<p>Gwen gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I had no idea."</p>
<p>"Lady <em>Surwen</em>?" exclaimed Angharad.</p>
<p>"Yes, Surwen." Turning back to Gwen, Telyn elaborated, "She didn't die in the Purge, though. King Rhodri allowed her to retire peacefully if she renounced magic, which she did." She shrugged, turned away. "The birthing fever took her a few years later."</p>
<p>"How horrible," Gwen murmured, feeling like an insensitive cad.</p>
<p>Telyn's jaw worked. She opened her mouth, closed it, then burst out, "She'd still be alive if it weren't for the ban. She was getting older and she'd gotten a cough that year, but if she'd just been able to heal herself, then she would have survived." Her hands were shaking.</p>
<p>Gwen fumbled for her handkerchief, wordlessly offered it to the grieving lady.</p>
<p>"…They can do that?" Angharad asked lowly. "Heal the birthing fever?"</p>
<p>Gwen looked at the Crown Prince's wife, bedridden from her first pregnancy. She was thin aside from her bursting belly, pale from lack of sunlight, with purplish shadows beneath her eyes.</p>
<p>They were waiting for her to answer, she realized after a few moments of silence, because somehow <em>she</em> had become the de facto expert on all things magical. "Some of them can," Gwen explained. "They have different skill levels, different specialties, and some of them don't know the correct spells. Then there's something about a mirror that I don't really understand—Merlin is terrible at explaining things—but yes, there are spellbinders out there who can heal virtually anything."</p>
<p>"It might be nice to have extra help on hand when the baby comes," Mithian noted, carefully neutral.</p>
<p>"Caradoc would never agree," Angharad sighed.</p>
<p>"Caradoc doesn't necessarily need to know," Mithian replied. Then, more gently, "But I do think he'd give in if we explained ourselves well enough. He loves you more than he likes to let on." There was something wistful in her tone.</p>
<p>"The problem would be finding someone," Telyn sighed. "Not to mention convincing them that this isn't a trap."</p>
<p>"Don't forget that Robat would take it personally," added Lady Marged, referring to the Nemethi Court Physician.</p>
<p>"I don't particularly care what Robat thinks," sniped Angharad. "My baby and I are worth more than his pride." She pushed herself up in bed. "Lady Guinevere, do you have any way to contact them?"</p>
<p>Gwen froze like a deer in the open, eyes wide. "I—I might be able to," she admitted. "Only it's more like Morgana occasionally checks in on me and then I can tell her, and she'll be able to pass on the message. It might take a while, but… if you want me to try, I'll try. But I think that someone would be more likely to come if they had, I don't know, some kind of special dispensation from King Rodor."</p>
<p>"That's doable," Mithian assured her. "It was my grandfather who signed Nemeth's Purge into law, not Father. The biggest thing to worry about is other nations' treaties with Camelot. I know that King Arthur is working to rewrite them, but someone might use it as an excuse to invade."</p>
<p>"And how do you know that this sorcerer won't just kill Princess Angharad and the baby both?" interjected Lady Hedydd.</p>
<p>"How do we know Robat won't?" countered Marged.</p>
<p>"They can't be trusted," Hedydd argued. "Princess Angharad, Princess Mithian, <em>surely</em> you can see that."</p>
<p>"My sister could be trusted," Telyn replied, quiet and firm. "She didn't use magic as she lay dying, because she had given her word to the old king."</p>
<p>Hedydd flushed but didn't give up. "One exception who was singled out and given a position at court because she was trustworthy isn't proof."</p>
<p>"With respect, my lady, I disagree," Guinevere interjected.</p>
<p>"She can't be trusted either," the Nemethi lady snorted. "She literally just admitted that she's in contact with sorcerers."</p>
<p>"Merlin and Morgana have both put themselves in danger to protect me," Gwen protested.</p>
<p>"Oh really." Hedydd's voice dripped disdain. "Now there's a story I'd love to hear."</p>
<p>Gwen's fists clenched, loosened. She felt out of her depth, tiny, insignificant. But her friends were counting on her, so she told them.</p>
<p>"I'm actually quite new to the nobility. King Arthur had my brother knighted for his valor and loyalty, which brought us both into the gentry. Before that, though, I served Lady Morgana as her maid."</p>
<p>A murmur broke out. Even Mithian, with her clear, piercing eyes, was taken aback.</p>
<p>Gwen forged on, praying that she hadn't just ruined everything. "Morgana has had terrible nightmares for as long as I've known her. Last summer, she and I finally realized—well, admitted, we'd half-realized it long ago—that her dreams were prophetic. She didn't ask for them. She actually wanted them gone. But they came, and then the rest of her magic began to manifest.</p>
<p>"Merlin saved her life then. He started giving her lessons, teaching her to not accidentally set things on fire when she got too angry. Neither of them asked for their powers; they both knew that magic could get them killed. So they supported each other and, because they were my friends and I could see that they weren't the monsters that sorcerers are supposed to be, I kept their secrets. They're good people and didn't deserve to die.</p>
<p>"But it wasn't long before Cornelius Sigan attacked. Merlin was exposed and had to flee for his life, but he was worried about us, so he left a way to contact him. Then King Uther sent Arthur out of the city. With him gone, Morgana was the only person in Camelot with enough sway over him to protect our people, so he tried to sell her to King Cenred of Essetir. Morgana refused. Then Uther told her that he would have me killed unless she obeyed him."</p>
<p>Soft gasps echoed around the room.</p>
<p>"Morgana and I chose to stay behind until the last minute because we wanted to help as many people as possible. Then, one night, Uther raised a toast to all the death and destruction he'd caused. She refused to drink, so the king… he ordered the guards to murder me on the spot."</p>
<p>Her hands were shaking, her voice wavering.</p>
<p>"Morgana <em>screamed</em> like I've never heard her scream before. She started using her magic, trying to save me, right there in front of Uther and all his court. If Merlin hadn't come to spirit us both away then, she likely would have burned at the stake, all because she wanted to protect her servant."</p>
<p>The ladies were dead silent.</p>
<p>"Merlin brought us to a… a sanctuary for spellbinders. It was a place where witches and druids and ordinary people lived side by side, hidden from soldiers and persecution. I didn't live there long, but when I did…. I couldn't tell the difference. Some people had magic and some didn't, and I couldn't tell unless they actually did something in front of me. They acted just the same as everybody else: mostly good, a little bad, and entirely human. They're just like us. Some are evil and untrustworthy, of course they are, but most are ordinary people who just want to live their lives in peace."</p>
<p>Whatever energy—or perhaps madness—which had led to Gwen's tirade vanished like a doused fire. She'd raised her voice to a half-dozen ladies and two princesses, she'd told them what she really was, and she'd probably doomed the entire diplomatic mission.</p>
<p>Should she say something else, break the silence that lay uncomfortably thick upon the room? No. She'd talked enough, and anyways, she had no idea what she would say. But then what was she supposed to do?</p>
<p>It was Hedydd who broke the pall. "Can it really just happen to people?" she asked Telyn, voice small.</p>
<p>"Yes," confirmed the last Court Mage's sister. "Some people are born with magic, while some have to learn to channel it. Surwen had to learn, so she was able to give her magic up. If she'd been born with it, though, then she couldn't have."</p>
<p>Hedydd nodded, just a tiny jerk of her head. "Oh." And then she was silent again.</p>
<p>Angharad cleared her throat. "So when you were living among the sorcerers, Guinevere, did you meet any who specialized in birthing magic?"</p>
<p>Gwen blinked, startled. "I—I met a few healers, yes," she admitted. "I don't know if any of them were specialized midwifes, though. Hunith might know, but I think she was going to use Gaius when her baby was born. But there must be at least one with the training and power to make certain you're all right." (It would not occur to her until later that they had no idea who Hunith was.)</p>
<p>Angharad grinned. "Good. I look forward to meeting them."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which it Turns out that Amatan Guards are Just as Easily Defeated as the Ones in Camelot"</p>
<p>Fun fact: I'm pretty sure that searching for all the Welsh names in this chapter convinced the ad algorithms on my computer that I am a pregnant Welsh woman, because I started getting commercials for diapers every. single. time I went on YouTube. For weeks. Thankfully, they have since moved on to more interesting things.</p>
<p>Next chapter: March 12. Annis arrives and is Magnificent. Someone else arrives too. Then Hunith and Balinor are adorable together.</p>
<p>Yes, Annis and Caerleon are Angharad's parents. I have a lot of headcanons about this family. In canon-verse, Caerleon and Annis lost Angharad (and her baby) to the birthing fever and their firstborn son/heir and his wife to an illness that swept through Albion during the timeskip between seasons 3-4. The Crown Prince left behind at least one son who technically became king when Caerleon died, but the kid was, like, three, so Annis is going to be regent for a looong time yet. (Anyone who tries to take the position from her is promptly eviscerated.) In this world, though, things will be a lot better for them (and pretty much everybody else).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Caerleon's Queen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Annis steals the show.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XIII: Caerleon's Queen</p>
<p>Queen Annis and her retinue arrived about a week after Caerleon's capture. Either she'd started the journey before Arthur's messenger arrived at her court, having heard of the king's capture from some random Caerleoni soldier, or they'd been pressing their horses near to death. Since their horses appeared to be fine, Arthur suspected that it was the first option.</p>
<p>They exchanged the usual pleasantries, temporarily ignoring the fact that Annis's husband was currently under heavy guard in the castle's eastern wing.</p>
<p>"You must be tired from your journey," Arthur recited. "Please, take the afternoon to refresh yourself. We'll hold a feast in your honor tonight."</p>
<p>Annis's lips twitched. "Thank you, King Arthur. I look forward to feasting with you, King Cenred, and my husband."</p>
<p>"King Caerleon is in the eastern wing if you wish to speak with him beforehand," Arthur volunteered. Annis's eyebrow lifted ever so slightly before her face stilled. "My servants can assist your retinue in setting up your chambers."</p>
<p>"Of course," she said.</p>
<p>Arthur leaned back into his throne as the queen swept out of the room. Annis was a canny one, that was for certain. Between her cleverness, Caerleon's acid tongue, and Cenred's watchful eyes, he was <em>not</em> looking forward to dinner.</p>
<p>The first half of the afternoon passed slowly as he carried out his various kingly duties, mainly listening to petitions from the commonfolk. It was all ordinary stuff, nothing strange at all.</p>
<p>Then the last petitioner approached, pushing back the hood of his cloak to reveal pale hair and a weathered face. An astonished murmur rippled through the air. The locals recognized him, and they whispered his name to the few outsiders who still lingered this long after the coronation.</p>
<p>The man bowed low. Arthur realized he was gaping and closed his mouth, then realized that he had to say something and opened it again. "What grievance do you bring before the Crown?" he queried, the words thoughtless and automatic.</p>
<p>"Your Majesty," said Gaius, "I wish for permission to once again take up my practice as a physician within the walls of Camelot. I know that you have likely already filled my old position, but a town of this size always needs medical aid."</p>
<p>"We haven't, actually," Arthur admitted, still off-kilter. Why the devil hadn't Gaius sent word ahead that he was planning to come back? It must be Merlin's fault. Clearly, the warlock had corrupted him. "The closest thing we had to a Court Physician left with King Sarrum." He paused, trying to right himself. "I… must admit that I'm surprised to see you here, given the circumstances of your departure."</p>
<p>Gaius actually smiled a bit at that. "Yes, people who flee for their lives don't usually return to the place where they nearly died."</p>
<p>"…No, they do not. So why have you?"</p>
<p>The physician straightened. "Your Majesty, I have thought long and hard about the best way to serve my people—<em>both</em> my peoples. I am a man of Camelot, yes, and I desire to help this kingdom." A moment's hesitation, so brief that Arthur wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't known Gaius since infancy. "I am also a former practitioner of magic, still capable of sorcery. They are my people as well, and I… have been negligent in my duty towards them for many years, for when the Purge began, I chose Camelot. I served your father loyally for twenty years—"</p>
<p>"Traitor," a voice spat. The crowd's answering susurration was not a disagreement.</p>
<p>Gaius grimaced but recovered with aplomb. "Now, however, I have the opportunity to choose both my country and my kin. I do not ask for special license to practice magic, Your Majesty. I know enough of medicine to ply my trade without it, and I have no intention of breaking the law to practice sorcery."</p>
<p>A few onlookers snorted. Gaius ignored them.</p>
<p>"All I ask is the opportunity to practice medicine <em>as a former sorcerer</em>, to answer my countrymen's questions, to show the people of Camelot that my magical kin are as human as they."</p>
<p>Arthur straightened himself, breathed in deeply. "I assume you've heard that I pardoned all acts of magic carried out during my father's reign and that the penalty for magic use is now a fine to be paid following a trial."</p>
<p>"I have, Sire."</p>
<p>"Your Majesty," interrupted one of the noblemen. His name was Einion; Arthur had stayed at his family's keep once. He was the one who had called Gaius a traitor. "Your pardon did not absolve sympathizers who knowingly harbored sorcerers, nor did you change the punishment for their crime." His eyes glinted like flint. "His decision to protect the sorcerer Merlin from your royal father's justice is still punishable by death."</p>
<p>Arthur fought down a curse.</p>
<p>Obviously, he had no intention of having Gaius killed. Einion must know that. He just wanted to hear Arthur's excuse.</p>
<p>The king met the physician's eyes, a silent question. The old man smiled grimly.</p>
<p>"Why <em>did</em> you choose to shelter Merlin?"</p>
<p>The smile gentled. "Hunith, Merlin's mother, is my niece. I've known her since she was a toddling child. When the time came for her to give birth, I was there to help deliver the infant. I helped bring Merlin into this world, and though I was never able to visit as often as I wished, Hunith and I remained in contact. She told me all sorts of stories about Merlin as he grew.</p>
<p>"Then Merlin came to Camelot to act as my apprentice. This brave, kind fool of a boy wanted a better world for people such as himself. He had everything I lacked: hope, zeal, courage… so much courage. I feared he'd get us both killed, but he kept finding ways to help people, with and without magic. He saved your life, Sire, within a week of his arrival. The next thing I knew, he was running an infirmary for plague victims—including your sister, Lord Einion."</p>
<p>The man winced.</p>
<p>"At first, I sheltered Merlin because he was my niece's son, a boy who had done nothing wrong and had not asked to be born with magic. Then I helped him because he offered a chance for a better future, because he sought to protect others, because he is good and clever and courageous. But most of all, I spared him because he did not deserve to die."</p>
<p>"He knowingly and deliberately broke the law," Einion pointed out.</p>
<p>"He is a warlock, born with the ability to use magic. His very existence is illegal across this entire island, not just in Camelot, and it's nearly impossible to find a boat to Eire or the mainland."</p>
<p>"Your Majesty, we must hold a trial for Gaius," Einion declared.</p>
<p>"I think not," Arthur disagreed. "I knew of Merlin's true nature myself; he told me at Castle Tintagel, when Camelot was besieged by Cornelius Sigan. I cannot condemn Gaius, or any of my people who sheltered their friends and family, without also condemning myself. Besides, it seems rather ridiculous that the punishment for aiding a so-called criminal is worse than the supposed crime itself."</p>
<p>The king nodded. "Gaius, I hereby grant your request and offer you the chance to take up your old post as Court Physician. You've saved thousands of lives during your tenure, and I have no doubt that you can save thousands more."</p>
<p>Gaius bowed low. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I accept." There was something like pride in his expression.</p>
<p>"Then you'll need to move back into your old chambers." Arthur stood. "Court is adjourned for the day. I need to write a proclamation absolving sympathizers."</p>
<p>Einion went red, his jaw clenching, but he didn't say anything.</p>
<p>Arthur spent most of the afternoon perfecting his proclamation. Once he'd handed that off to Geoffrey and Blanchefleur, he headed for the physician's quarters.</p>
<p>An unexpected wave of nostalgia washed over him. He'd been walking this path virtually his entire life. The walk, and the man it led to, had been staples of his childhood, welcome constants in a world that always seemed to be changing. No matter what else happened, Gaius would be there in his chambers, spectacles perched on his nose as he read some dusty old tome.</p>
<p>Arthur swallowed against the lump in his throat. It was silly to get so worked up about this, but… everything else had changed. His father was dead, he was king, Morgana was practically an exile. The castle even looked different after repairing Sigan's damage. The differences made this one point of stability that much more precious.</p>
<p>Gaius was going through his inventory when Arthur pushed open the door, but he put his list down immediately when he saw who it was, a smile lighting up his face. "I've missed you, Arthur," he confessed.</p>
<p>"And I you," Arthur admitted. "I'm glad you're back, even if it might be dangerous. You <em>have</em> taken precautions, right?"</p>
<p>The physician lifted a familiar amulet on a woven cord. Arthur relaxed. "I shouldn't be surprised that Merlin gave you one of those."</p>
<p>"He didn't, actually."</p>
<p>Arthur frowned at the charm. "But that's one of those things you use to summon him."</p>
<p>"Yes," Gaius confirmed, "but it was supposed to be his mother's, not mine, in case she and Balinor need emergency help as they settle the refugees."</p>
<p>"They're doing that now? Moving people to Listeneise, I mean." His brow wrinkled in thought. "So why isn't Merlin already there?"</p>
<p>"He and Morgana are off rescuing Sarrum's prisoners. They—the prisoners, that is, not Merlin and Morgana—need time to recover before they can be teleported."</p>
<p>Arthur's lips twitched. "Does Merlin even know you're here?"</p>
<p>Pink tinged Gaius's cheeks, and his voice was carefully dignified as he admitted, "Not yet."</p>
<p>The king laughed outright at that. It felt good to laugh, and perhaps a bit strange. He opted not to dwell on it. "Serves him right after all his nonsense."</p>
<p>"Yes, it rather does."</p>
<p>They chatted a bit longer about Merlin (recovering well after destroying the Dark Tower), the migration to Listeneise (progressing smoothly now that everyone save the Amatans had arrived, with some people already drying fish for the winter), the things Arthur had done to free magic. Gaius was proud of him, he said; the praise left Arthur beaming until he could reclaim his dignity.</p>
<p>But all good things come to an end. Eventually, Arthur said his goodbyes and made his way to the dining hall. He had to juggle three monarchs tonight, and none of them friends.</p>
<p>At least he'd managed to get more sleep lately.</p>
<p>The dinner itself was less uncomfortable than he'd expected. Queen Annis was visibly displeased with her husband, so Caerleon was on his best behavior in the hope of placating her. This meant that he mostly avoided provoking Arthur and Cenred.</p>
<p>After dinner, Arthur and the royal couple retired to one of the smaller meeting rooms. "You understand, of course, why I can't simply let him go," he told Annis.</p>
<p>"Of course. My royal husband is well aware that he must learn from this experience." Annis sat, folding her arms.</p>
<p>"Name your price," Caerleon demanded.</p>
<p>"My first condition is that you sign a new treaty with Camelot, one without the clause of alliance against nations that embrace magic."</p>
<p>"Your <em>first</em> condition?" Caerleon scoffed. "A new treaty is payment enough."</p>
<p>"Not if that treaty benefits both our kingdoms," Arthur countered. "Without this clause, Caerleon will not be obligated to declare war on countries who wish to end the Purge—countries that will have legions of powerful spellbinders on their side."</p>
<p>"Not much use if no one ends the Purge," Caerleon retorted, a challenge in his voice.</p>
<p>Arthur folded his hands. "As you have no doubt noticed, I intend to end the Purge in Camelot and to encourage other kings to follow suit. I have no doubt that they will. After all, if only one kingdom has access to magic, it possesses a powerful advantage over the others."</p>
<p>"Not if they join forces."</p>
<p>Arthur fixed Caerleon with a flat stare. "If you believe that you can rally every other nation on this island to attack Camelot, Your Majesty, you're welcome to try."</p>
<p>"Still," Annis cut in, "Camelot has more to gain by repealing the Purge, so our agreement to do the same ought to be enough to win my husband's freedom."</p>
<p>Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean that Camelot has more to gain?" he asked, genuinely baffled.</p>
<p>A hint of triumph gleamed in Annis's eyes. Arthur had the nasty feeling that he'd fallen for a trap. "A disproportionate amount of spellbinders will choose to settle in the kingdom where your Merlin serves as Court Mage."</p>
<p>"…I don't follow," the king was forced to admit.</p>
<p>"The people of magic believe that your old manservant is Emrys, their prophesied leader and champion. Even if he isn't, they <em>believe</em> that he is, and they'll flock to him in droves. They are already rallying around him. And if he really is Emrys, then you will have the most powerful warlock in human history at your side." The queen steepled her fingers, met Arthur's eyes with a gaze of steel. "I trust you can see my point."</p>
<p>Arthur just stared back, dumbfounded into silence. His brain helpfully reminded him of just a few of Merlin's shenanigans: dropping armor all over the floor, dumping water on Arthur to wake him, hiding contraband worthy of a death sentence beneath his bloody floorboard….</p>
<p>It was hard to imagine that his idiot ex-manservant had that much clout. Hell, it was hard enough, sometimes, to accept that the fool possessed not just magic but <em>powerful</em> magic.</p>
<p>Not magical royalty, his left foot.</p>
<p>He'd been silent for too long. Annis nodded sharply. "Let's begin hammering out the details of the treaty."</p>
<p>Arthur snapped out of it. "Yes, we can finish the release negotiations after renewing the treaty."</p>
<p>"We <em>have</em> finished the release negotiations," Caerleon decreed.</p>
<p>"How odd. I don't remember agreeing to your terms." Arthur crossed his arms. "We haven't discussed the reparations to Stonedown, specifically, or what the consequences should be if you raid my people again."</p>
<p>"Is there some reason that this can't be part of the treaty?" Annis inquired.</p>
<p>Caught wrongfooted again, Arthur could only hope he didn't look it. "I suppose not."</p>
<p>Was that their strategy, keeping him just a little bit off kilter? If so, it was a damnably clever one. Arthur found himself wishing for Morgana. His sister had always been good with negotiations.</p>
<p>As the hours passed and the treaty took shape between them, Arthur became more and more convinced that his suspicion was correct. They wanted to keep him off balance, second-guessing himself, feeling like the young and inexperienced king that he was. He found himself wondering if they did this to everyone. Probably not, or Caerleon would have no need to raid the borders.</p>
<p>But despite his age and being outnumbered, Arthur had one advantage that was impossible to ignore. He, not Caerleon or Annis, was the wronged party; they (or rather he) were the wrongdoers, and Arthur had been perfectly within his rights to take the other king captive.</p>
<p>So he used that fact to his advantage, subtly bringing it up whenever he could. He reminded them of the damage to Stonedown, of the wounds sustained by his men. He didn't quite play the victim, but neither did he allow them to forget where they all stood.</p>
<p>By the time they departed, exhausted, for bed, the treaty had mostly taken shape. Caerleon and Camelot would remain nonaggressive towards each other. They were not obligated to join forces to war against another kingdom, should that kingdom legalize magic. Stonedown would receive monetary compensation for the destruction that Caerleon had wrought, though they hadn't yet settled on an exact number, and assistance rebuilding. Lastly, there would be consequences if Caerleoni raiders struck again, though, like with the money, they hadn't agreed on what those consequences were to be.</p>
<p>But halfway through negotiations, Arthur had had another idea. "Do you have problems with bandits as well?"</p>
<p>Caerleon scowled, which was answer enough.</p>
<p>"Perhaps we could create a sort of joint force to root out bandits near the border of our kingdoms."</p>
<p>Husband and wife looked at each other. For the first time, there was something like surprise on Annis's face.</p>
<p>"An interesting proposal," the older king said, voice carefully even.</p>
<p>Arthur smiled. Not so much fun when <em>they</em> were the ones off-kilter, hmm?</p>
<p>"I'm surprised that you would want my soldiers on your land."</p>
<p>"It would be a mixed company," Arthur reminded him, "half yours and half mine. I suspect that if our soldiers were to fight together, get to know each other, there might be less temptation to go raiding."</p>
<p>"…You're likely correct." Caerleon's lips turned up. "What do you think, dear?"</p>
<p>"A novel idea, and one that I think worth trying."</p>
<p>So that, too, was going into the treaty. They had yet to iron out those details either, but that, too, could wait until morning. The sun had set, their candles were burning low, and they were all exhausted.</p>
<p>"You're not what I expected, Arthur Pendragon," Annis said as she stood to depart.</p>
<p>"Is that a good thing?"</p>
<p>She smiled. "I think it might be."</p>
<hr/>
<p>There weren't any chairs in their new home, so Balinor settled for collapsing against a wall and slowly sinking to the floor. It had been a long, weary day of teleporting and getting people situated in the houses that were still habitable (or could become habitable by the time the weather really turned). He was exhausted physically, mentally, and magically, but it was worth it. His people were safe here, deep in the heart of the no-longer-quite-so-Perilous Lands.</p>
<p>Hunith chuckled softly. She sat down the normal way, leaning into her husband's side. "It's good to have a roof over our heads again."</p>
<p>"It is." Balinor wrapped an arm around her. "Marvelous things, roofs. I don't know how I survived all those years without them."</p>
<p>She grimaced the way she often did when he referenced their time apart. It had been necessary, but neither of them had enjoyed it. "I suppose that your cave technically had a roof," she mused.</p>
<p>"Technically," the Dragonlord acquiesced.</p>
<p>"Is it, though?" Hunith wondered, more to keep the conversation going than because she was second-guessing herself. "Maybe the word 'roof' can only refer to something on top of a house."</p>
<p>"Who would decide that?"</p>
<p>Hunith shrugged. "The Romans, maybe? They did all sorts of things with architecture."</p>
<p>"Gaius has a Roman name," Balinor noted. "We'll have to ask him next time we meet. You think he's doing all right in Camelot?"</p>
<p>"I imagine so, yes. I hope so." Hunith had encouraged him, but she knew the risk as well as he did.</p>
<p>A knock sounded at the door. Balinor groaned and Hunith sighed. Neither wanted to get up, but a ruler's work was never truly done. They trudged to the door, pushed it open.</p>
<p>Three familiar figures stood across the threshold: a druid, a selkie, and her husband. Balinor plastered on a smile that hopefully appeared friendlier than he actually felt. "Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"No," said Cordelia the selkie. "Just the opposite, in fact."</p>
<p>"We have a gift for you," her husband Cagan explained.</p>
<p>The druid stepped aside, gesturing theatrically.</p>
<p>A cradle rested there, carved with knotwork and housing a little rag doll.</p>
<p>Hunith made a little choking noise, hands rising to cover her mouth. Something similar might have escaped Balinor's own mouth, but he wasn't certain.</p>
<p>"It isn't very much," the druid said bashfully, "but you're getting your baby back soon. She'll need a place to sleep. It's probably not nearly as fancy as what she's got in the Sidhe palace, though, m'lord, m'lady."</p>
<p>Hunith sniffed, tears trickling down her cheeks.</p>
<p>"It's the least we can do for you after all you've done for us," Cordelia told them.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Balinor choked.</p>
<p>The selkie and the men lowered their heads. "And thank you as well."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Gaius Demonstrates Merlin's Terrible Influence Before he can Answer Important Questions about the Nature of Roofs"</p>
<p>Next chapter: A dead woman takes her revenge. Gwen continues negotiations. April 2.</p>
<p>Does anybody have good suggestions for defeating writer's block? I've been struggling since NaNo. While I do have a lot of buffer, I still need to keep going, and any advice is appreciated. Thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The High Priestess's Revenge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just when Merlin thought he was in the clear, he isn't.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XIV: The High Priestess's Revenge</p>
<p>In Merlin's defense, his old wound hadn't <em>really</em> started acting up (twinges and lingering soreness didn't count) until after they arrived in Amata and he spent all that magic pausing time, <em>and</em> he'd almost immediately formulated a plan that included getting medical attention. It was just that they had so many former prisoners who needed healing so much more than he did. They were starving and sick and wounded and broken inside. It felt wrong to demand help when his problem was so minor by comparison.</p>
<p>Besides, he had the nasty healing that this wound might be a little bit beyond the present healers' purview.</p>
<p>He had an infection in his belly, right where his stab wound had been. The flesh there, when he actually <em>looked</em> at it, was red, tender, swollen, hotter than it should be. Focusing on their mission had kept him from noticing, but after they'd rescued the prisoners and the excitement wore off, Merlin realized that it actually hurt quite a bit.</p>
<p>So he took the sharpest knife from the oubliette and summoned fire to his hand. He held the blade in the flame until the metal glowed orange, then carefully made a tiny incision in his abdomen. A bit of (painful, miserable, and thoroughly awful) squeezing pushed out a worrying quantity of thick yellowish pus. How had he not noticed this earlier?</p>
<p>As he bandaged the wound, hands clumsy from pain, Merlin wondered what this meant. Kilgharrah had healed him with dragonfire. That should have purged any infection from his body. Yet here he was, treating an infection that shouldn't have existed.</p>
<p>What did this mean for Listeneise, for the Dark Tower? There had to be some kind of connection. Had he failed?</p>
<p>The more Merlin considered the question, the further his stomach sank. He must have failed somehow. He had destroyed the Dark Tower, yes, but some vestige of its magic must remain, lurking there in the ruins of the building. It was growing stronger again, trying to reform.</p>
<p>As soon as the prisoners were safe in Listeneise, Merlin decided, he would go directly to Gaius. He'd drink as many nasty potions as he needed to, submit to more wound draining and healing spells, then go back and figure out what he'd done wrong. He couldn't allow the Dark Tower to regenerate, not now that there were people living in the same kingdom. They had to grow food for the winter. They'd already be using magic to ensure that nothing went wrong with their vegetable crop; if the Dark Tower were still draining fertility from the land, they might not succeed. Worse, the effects might extend into the ocean, leaving them unable even to fish.</p>
<p>Six days, he told himself that first night, panting from agony.</p>
<p>Except the Dark Tower or curse or whatever it was had apparently passed some sort of threshold. Before, its progress had been so slow that Merlin hadn't even realized an infection was growing inside him. Now it was developing more quickly.</p>
<p>After the second day, Merlin realized that he couldn't safely put it off anymore. "Morgana, can we talk outside?" he asked the next morning.</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>It was drizzling, so they sheltered beneath an old tree before Merlin told her about his predicament. She insisted on taking a look at him, pursing her lips at the sight of the inflammation. "That's not good. You need healing."</p>
<p>"I know," Merlin agreed, "but… you've seen the way they look at me, Morgana. I don't want to scare them more than they already are."</p>
<p>"You want me to cover for you," she realized.</p>
<p>"Yes. I'm going to pop over to Listeneise, get the help I need, then fly Wyrmbasu to the ruins so I can actually end this."</p>
<p>"Do you know how you can end it?"</p>
<p>"I think I can just slightly modify the spells I used before. Even if it doesn't completely work, it'll at least buy enough time to figure out something else."</p>
<p>"Take Kilgharrah," Morgana said. It was not a suggestion. "Try to find somebody else, too."</p>
<p>"Basu can't carry two."</p>
<p>"Ride Kilgharrah."</p>
<p>"I don't think he would like that."</p>
<p>"And I don't like the thought of something going wrong when you try your modified spells."</p>
<p>"I'll ask," Merlin decided. "He'll probably say no, though."</p>
<p>"Try nagging him," his lady suggested. "That'll work."</p>
<p>"I feel like I've just been insulted, somehow."</p>
<p>"Tell me you'll try, at least."</p>
<p>"I'll try," he promised.</p>
<p>They kissed goodbye, which made Merlin feel a little better as he disappeared to Listeneise.</p>
<p>Arriving in the Perilous Lands made something inside him unknot. Despite the muddy ground—repairing the cobblestones hadn't been anyone's priority—he found himself tempted to remove his shoes, let his toes curl into the soil. He pushed back the urge with the ease of long practice and started looking for someone who could tell him where Gaius was.</p>
<p>There were still a fair few people in the streets. Many of the ancient houses that they were reclaiming were in rough shape, ramshackle and dilapidated. While the settlers had made good progress yesterday in patching them up, they still needed a great deal of work. To make matters more difficult, resources were scarce in this long-barren kingdom. Merlin's people had opted to tear down a few of the most decrepit houses in order to patch up the ones that were still usable. That was faster than hauling lumber from the Impenetrable Forest or quarrying new stone, but it took time.</p>
<p>Still, there was a marked improvement to this area. While two buildings had been destroyed, the others were looking downright habitable, if a bit drafty. Merlin would happily live in one of those houses.</p>
<p>(No one had gone into the Fisher King's ancient fortress. It felt haunted, half-alive, and no one knew if any curses lingered in the stone. Not even Merlin had been inside since he'd buried Anfortas.</p>
<p>There was, perhaps, another reason that Merlin's people hadn't entered the king's home, but he didn't want to dwell on that.)</p>
<p>The warlock approached the nearest citizen. "Excuse me, but do you know where the physician Gaius is?" There were plenty of healers among the refugees, but Merlin was most comfortable with his old friend.</p>
<p>"I heard he went back to Camelot."</p>
<p>"What?!"</p>
<p>The man looked up at that, his eyes bulging as he recognized Emrys. "The—the rumors say that he went to serve the Once and Future King. I think he's going to represent us and answer everyone's questions? I'm not really sure, m'lord."</p>
<p>"I'm not a lord," Merlin retorted automatically, his mind whirring. Was this how Gaius felt whenever he did something stupid and impulsive? It must be. He didn't like it. "What about Hunith and Balinor?" They'd know if there was any truth to the rumor.</p>
<p>"They're helping dig out the fields."</p>
<p>Merlin thanked the fellow for his information, wished him luck on the home repair project, and started for the fields. It wasn't a long walk. The refugees were settling down in a sort of wedge between the ocean and the borders of the city; there weren't enough of them to populate the entire town. From this position, they could easily access the fish-filled seas and the open ground, which was quickly being converted to cropland.</p>
<p>The seasons were against them. It was late September, and some trees were already turning golden. Fortunately, there were a few crops that they could grow even in winter, provided they could get enough seed. As it was, they were cutting their potatoes into as many pieces as possible and taking extra care with the few other plants they'd managed to acquire. No one would gain weight over the winter, but if they supplemented their diet with fish and maybe acquired a few sheep and chickens, they'd survive.</p>
<p>That was why Merlin had to take care of this Dark Tower business before it got even worse. He knew what it meant to be hungry.</p>
<p>"Mother!"</p>
<p>"Merlin?" Hunith's brow crinkled in worry as she stood, absently brushing soil from her skirt. "Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"Not really. Well, I suppose there sort of is, but it's not anything too bad or urgent." Yet. "Where's Gaius?"</p>
<p>"He's representing us in Camelot. Now, <em>what's wrong</em>? You wouldn't be here if everything was going according to plan."</p>
<p>Well, he'd known there'd be no chance of getting anything past her. His sigh was more for show than an expression of emotion. "There's nothing wrong with the mission. Well, nothing we didn't anticipate. The way they were treated was…." He scrunched up his face, nostrils flaring. "They weren't treated very well, but we're taking care of them now, and they're recovering as well as can be expected."</p>
<p>Hunith folded her arms and raised her eyebrow in the way she'd learned from Gaius.</p>
<p>This sigh was more heartfelt. "I think I missed something when I destroyed the Dark Tower. My wound that I shouldn't even have anymore is developing an infection."</p>
<p>She made him lift up his shirt so she could have a look at it. Merlin obeyed before remembering that he'd tried to drain the wound just last night. His mother wasn't happy about the cut, but she understood why it was there.</p>
<p>"You need to speak to someone," Hunith said, eyes dark with worry. "Then take Wyrmbasu and go to the ruins. I'll get your father to send Kilgharrah there, too. Maybe he can fix this all on his own."</p>
<p>"That'd be wonderful. Thanks, Mother."</p>
<p>They embraced briefly before Merlin set off to find a druid or healer or something. He encountered an herbalist who helped him drain the wound again, purging it of more pus than it should have held. Was the wretched thing getting deeper? Gods, Merlin hoped not.</p>
<p>The herbalist packed the injury with the last dregs of his supply. Merlin thanked him profusely before going off to search for Basu. He found the wyvern sunning himself on a roof.</p>
<p>"Come down here, you lazy lug!" Merlin called playfully.</p>
<p>Basu huffed and flicked his tail at him. Rude. Still, Merlin had been rude too, sort of (could wyverns recognize teasing?), so he backtracked. "Can you please come down here and give me a hand with something? I think that the Dark Tower is trying to regenerate."</p>
<p>The wyvern was on the ground almost before he'd finished speaking, kneeling so that his master could mount. Merlin climbed aboard with a murmur of thanks.</p>
<p>The flight was less enjoyable than usual, what with the incision on his belly and all. Merlin weathered it in silence rather than his usual cheery chatter. Basu noticed and flapped harder.</p>
<p>Kilgharrah was there when they arrived. He'd stacked a few slabs into a rough cairn and was frowning at where the Tower's base had been. He did not look up when Basu touched down.</p>
<p>"Do you see anything?" Merlin asked.</p>
<p>"I believe so, yes." The dragon lowered his bronze head, going almost cross-eyed as his snout approached the ground. "I believe that its builder had a backup plan."</p>
<p>"That's ominous and I don't like it."</p>
<p>"Nor do I, young warlock." He pushed aside another piece of rubble. "I can only hope that it <em>was</em> a backup plan rather than vengeance."</p>
<p>"But wouldn't it be better the other way around? If she left a backup plan, a way for the Dark Tower to regenerate even if the Fisher King or some other bond-holder destroyed it, then the blasted thing is coming back. Maybe not the physical structure, because I don't think that those walls are going anywhere, but the magic is deadly enough on its own. And what if it spreads without something physical keeping it contained?"</p>
<p>"Any weed can be uprooted, Merlin," Kilgharrah replied softly, "but salted earth is not so easy to purify."</p>
<p>The warlock stilled. "What does that mean?" His heart beat very loudly.</p>
<p>The dragon did not answer. He didn't need to.</p>
<p>"You think she might have left a big, nasty curse for whoever broke the Tower. You think that this new magic isn't trying to siphon power away. It's just trying to destroy everything out of pure spite."</p>
<p>"That is a possibility, Merlin. We would be remiss to discount it."</p>
<p>Merlin sank to the ground. Was it just his imagination, or had the pain gotten worse? "How do we stop it?"</p>
<p>"First, eliminate one of the possibilities. Should that fail, try something else."</p>
<p>"Right." The warlock huffed. He stood again, gripping Beothaich with white-knuckled fingers. "Sounds like a plan." He'd clearly spent too much time around Kilgharrah. The dragon's usual cryptic speech was alarmingly comprehensible.</p>
<p>It was easier than it had been to shape the spells he'd used against the Dark Tower. He wove together the strength of Listeneise and the power of Emrys, channeling them both through the dragon-burnished Sidhe staff.</p>
<p>It wasn't working. If his magic was a net, then the Dark Tower's remains were liquid, flowing easily through the holes and back into the ground. Merlin tried to reshape his tool, a cup rather than a net, but the enemy magic sloshed right out. He changed his weapon-trap to a flask and tried to stopper it, but the corruption slid between the bottle and the plug and escaped.</p>
<p>Merlin was sweating now, exertion and fear combining. He gave it one last try, spinning his spell like a glassblower, but the other magic just didn't fit. He might as well hammering nails with a quill. His tool was just fundamentally wrong for the job.</p>
<p>"I think she was going for revenge," Merlin finally admitted.</p>
<p>Kilgharrah nodded with the air of someone who'd realized this after the warlock's first failure. "I believe that you are correct, young warlock." He glared at the piles of stone. "This is a problem."</p>
<p>"Yes, it certainly is."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Technically, only the vast majority of people were staring at her, which was marginally better than being the object of literally everybody's attention. Or it would be, Gwen clarified to herself, if she didn't more than half-suspect that the people supposedly not watching her were actually just being subtle about it.</p>
<p>One cluster of girls burst into cruel titters as Gwen walked past. She didn't need to catch the words 'servant' and 'maid' to know what they were laughing at.</p>
<p>The former maidservant's jaw clenched, but she otherwise ignored them. There was no shame in her old job, Gwen reminded herself. It was honest, necessary work.</p>
<p>It was also menial, and she'd never felt more like an imposter as she strode towards her private lunch with the royal family of Nemeth.</p>
<p>Working in King Uther's court imbued one with certain instincts. The king's attention was dangerous, and some courtiers too. Servants learned to keep to the background, silent and helpful, trying not to be noticed. Gwen had been fighting those urges since before her arrival in Nemeth, but now that everyone knew, the need to stay quiet and meek was stronger than ever.</p>
<p>But she had a job to do.</p>
<p>Gwen curtsied to Rodor, his children, and his daughter-in-law as a lady would: graceful, not exactly shallow but not deep either, head bowed only slightly before she straightened her legs and spine. "Your Majesty. Your Highnesses."</p>
<p>Rodor gave her a long, level stare. Beads of sweat broke out at Gwen's hairline, but she forced herself to stand firm.</p>
<p>Arthur was counting on her.</p>
<p>Gwen straightened further, shoulders back, and tried to look regal.</p>
<p>A hint of a smile quirked Rodor's lips. "Lady Guinevere," he said. "Come sit."</p>
<p>Gwen nearly fell over from shock and relief. She sank into her chair with a smile of more than just gratitude. "Of course, Your Majesty."</p>
<p>"Father." There was a tightness around the Crown Prince's eyes.</p>
<p>"I know, Caradoc." He regarded Gwen a moment more, then inquired, "How did your family come to the nobility? I was under the impression that commoners weren't allowed knighthood in Camelot."</p>
<p>So Gwen recounted how Elyan had fought against Cornelius Sigan's gargoyles, how he'd become part of Arthur's honor guard during the brief war with Magance. She spoke of her father as well, explaining how Tom had brought hammers to the guard when Sigan had blocked their access to blunt weaponry. She let her pride leak into her voice. They were both heroes, if in different ways.</p>
<p>"Father." Caradoc was louder this time. "She's admitted to being in contact with sorcerers."</p>
<p>"Spellbinders who might save my life," Angharad cut in.</p>
<p>"Or they could kill you," he retorted.</p>
<p>Angharad folded her arms. "And how likely am I to survive childbirth? Robat won't tell me for some reason that I can't possibly guess at." As the Crown Prince winced, stricken, she pressed her advantage. "He won't tell me the baby's odds, either."</p>
<p>"What's worth more, Caradoc?" Mithian asked quietly. "Your wife and child, or your pride?"</p>
<p>He shrank into his seat. "But… how can we know that they won't betray us? All that power…."</p>
<p>Gwen fought the urge to pat his hand. "Remember, spellbinders want their freedom. You will be a king one day, with a different sort of power than their own. They know that your family can give them liberty or keep hunting them. There's no benefit in hurting Princess Angharad or the baby and every advantage in helping you all as much as possible."</p>
<p>"That makes sense, Caradoc," his little brother Meliodas pointed out. "I think you should try it. I like Rhaddie."</p>
<p>A muscle worked in the older prince's jaw. He looked sideways at his father, something equal parts hopeful and frightened on his face.</p>
<p>King Rodor nodded. "We'd need to pass the spellbinder off as a midwife or physician. Magic is still illegal here, and it <em>must</em> remain so until King Arthur dismantles enough treaties that we needn't worry about war."</p>
<p>Gwen chewed her lip. Mithian noticed, made an encouraging gesture. "Arthur—that is, King Arthur—found something of a loophole in those treaties. None of them say that magic must be punishable by death. He changed the penalty to a fine that can only be paid after a trial."</p>
<p>"Clever," Rodor said approvingly.</p>
<p>Caradoc squared his shoulders. "I would pay the fine, Father, for any magic used to help them. If… if Lady Guinevere can find a magical healer who can save them, I'd pay all the money in the world." He looked at her in question.</p>
<p>Gwen took a risk. "Lady Morgana can sometimes speak to people in their dreams," she explained, hardly daring to believe in this success. "She's still perfecting the technique, but she's been trying to touch base with me at least once every few nights. If I don't hear from her tonight, though, I have a more direct line of communication." Her hand tried to twitch towards the amulet around her neck, but she stopped it just in time.</p>
<p>"So we'll know by tomorrow, then?"</p>
<p>"Probably not. Morgana would have to ask her people if anyone is willing and able, but then she'd get back to me. Hopefully we'd get an answer within two days, but… if anything goes wrong before then, I do have that other method of communication with Merlin. He doesn't have much training in healing, but he can find someone who does and get them back to you very quickly, Princess Angharad."</p>
<p>The other woman grinned at her, almost girlish in her relief. "<em>Thank you</em>." Then, almost shyly, she added, "You know, my friends call me Rhaddie."</p>
<p>Gwen pulled up short. Her eyes prickled. "I—thank you. My friends call me Gwen."</p>
<p>Mithian beamed at them both. "Gwen it is, then."</p>
<p>Rhaddie nodded. "Gwen it is."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which the Dark Tower Causes Yet More Trouble and Gwen Finishes the Tutorial of her Ambassadoring"</p>
<p>Next chapter: April 23. The Dream Team reconvenes. Sarrum continues to exist.</p>
<p>You are probably all getting tired of that stupid Dark Tower distracting from the main plot. I am, too, but I'm going to try to make it deliver more payoff for Merlin's development. I just. Have to get there first. At least my writer's block is a bit better-not gone, but slightly better. Thank you, everybody who offered advice for beating it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. An Exchange of Information (and Plots)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The fearsome foursome hang out in Morgana's dream world.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XV: An Exchange of Information (and Plots)</p>
<p>A dull pain followed him into the dream world. That made sense. The ache was connected to his magic as much as to his physical body. Still, given his druthers, Merlin would have gone without.</p>
<p>Gwen had just begun telling them about her conversation with the Nemethi royal family. Arthur groaned and hid his face when she mentioned Angharad. The future queen's lips twitched. "That's right. You've got her father as a guest in Camelot."</p>
<p>"Her mother, too," the king grumbled. "Queen Annis just arrived today. She's… sharp." He gave an exaggerated shudder.</p>
<p>"Do you think I should tell her?" Gwen wondered. "Like I told you, she's been having difficulties with her pregnancy. That's actually the main thing I wanted to bring up tonight. Crown Prince Caradoc, who was much more against magic than the others, wants magical help to ensure that she and the baby survive. Merlin, Morgana, do you two know anyone who might help?"</p>
<p>"Morgause probably could," Morgana volunteered, "but…."</p>
<p>Gwen bit her lip. "I think that she and Angharad would definitely get along. Probably Mithian, too, and I don't think she'd <em>not</em> get along with the king or princes."</p>
<p>"This is the same Morgause who once wanted to brainwash all the royalty in Albion, right?" asked Arthur, desert-dry.</p>
<p>"Do you think Gaius would be willing to stop by?" Merlin wondered. "Or we could ask Mother for recommendations. She mostly went to Gaius, but I doubt he was the only one who volunteered to help her."</p>
<p>"When is little Ganieda due home, Merlin?" asked Gwen.</p>
<p>The warlock beamed. "Five days," he announced proudly. "Mother and I are going to the Lake of Avalon at sundown. Father would come too, but he gets sick there and doesn't want to risk dropping poor Ganieda the first time he holds her, even if I could keep her from hitting the ground."</p>
<p>"Yes," Arthur retorted, "we wouldn't want her to end up like you."</p>
<p>"Of course you wouldn't," Merlin shot back. The king had just enough time to look confused before the warlock added, "Your pride couldn't survive it if a girl twenty-plus years your junior was <em>that</em> much better than you in every possible way." He missed this about Camelot, the quick, easy camaraderie with his friend. And the spluttering. Arthur's indignant spluttering was always fun.</p>
<p>"That's a good idea, Merlin," Gwen said, a hand over her mouth to hide what was clearly a smile at the warlock's devastating wit. "I know that you're busy in Amata, but could one of you ask her tomorrow?"</p>
<p>Morgana had been grinning as well, but now her expression faded into seriousness. "Merlin already has to stop by Listeneise. He can ask her then."</p>
<p>"…What went wrong?" Arthur asked, his voice level and low. Gwen stiffened like she was bracing herself for the worst.</p>
<p>"It's nothing to do with the mission," Merlin assured them. "That's still on the right track, so you don't need to worry about Sarrum going after us quite yet. It's just that I appear to be slightly cursed."</p>
<p>Gwen gasped. Arthur startled. Morgana slapped a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Dammit, Merlin, we discussed how you were going to tell them this!"</p>
<p>Actually, she had mostly lectured him on 'not doing that thing you always do when you try to explain things' and Merlin had nodded along while letting the finer points pass him by. He thought that he'd given a very succinct, complete introduction to the problem.</p>
<p>Morgana must not have trusted him to continue, so she took over explaining. "You remember how the Dark Tower was draining him through Listeneise?"</p>
<p>"Did he not destroy it correctly?" Arthur demanded.</p>
<p>"No, no. As far as anyone can tell, he did. It's just that the Tower's creator apparently left behind a curse that would be activated if it was ever destroyed. We don't know the specifics of the curse, but Merlin's got an infection where his stab wound used to be and he and Kilgharrah both sensed <em>something</em> when they went to check on the Tower."</p>
<p>"Are you all right, Merlin?"</p>
<p>"I'm fine, Gwen. Well, mostly. The infection is gross and it hurts, but it's not as bad as it was. Kilgharrah healed me up again before I came back to Amata. He didn't cure me, though, just patched me up and slowed the progress."</p>
<p>Arthur leaned forward, intense. "Do you know how to break it?"</p>
<p>"Not yet," Merlin sighed.</p>
<p>(He felt like he should, even though he knew, rationally, that he had no reason to. It was a reminder of how little he knew about magic, how very, very far he had to go before he could become the person everyone wanted him to be.)</p>
<p>"Morgause doesn't know either," Morgana elaborated. "She didn't even know that this curse existed until today."</p>
<p>Arthur swore.</p>
<p>"I'm more worried about what it will do to the crops we're planting, to be honest," Merlin tried to assure them.</p>
<p>Gwen blanched. "That's right, you don't have any proper food stores. You'll let us know, won't you, if things get truly bad there?"</p>
<p>"Of course. My people have suffered enough. I'm not letting any of them starve." Not like he'd let them be poisoned and cut down in their own homes.</p>
<p>"We're already taking all the supplies from the hellhole," Morgana said. She didn't add that those rations wouldn't last very long, that they still needed a sustainable, repeatable way to produce or trade for their own supplies. "And it isn't like running out of food is a sudden thing. We'll have time."</p>
<p>Morgana and Arthur had grown up in castles. Even Gwen had spent her life in a town. Merlin, who knew how quickly blights could spread even without the complicating factor of an ancient curse, didn't quite share her confidence but didn't argue either. Starvation was slow, and they could teleport. His people would be all right.</p>
<p>"How are you going to fix it?" Arthur demanded.</p>
<p>"Well, for starters, there's a bunch of general curse-breaking things that we can try. It's possible that Eluned, the High Priestess, put all her creativity into the Dark Tower and didn't do anything too fancy for the vengeance curse. On the other hand, she was a smart, talented witch. She could easily have done something more unique."</p>
<p>"And how bad, exactly, can this curse get?" From Arthur's expression, he feared the worst.</p>
<p>"That's another of those things that we don't know yet." Merlin suspected that the ultimate goal of the curse was to kill him slowly and painfully while destroying as much of Listeneise as possible, but as this was technically only a guess, he opted not to mention it. Arthur and Gwen were stressed enough as it was.</p>
<p>"Well, when will you find out?"</p>
<p>"Hopefully either soon or never. I know that Kilgharrah and I slowed it today, though, even pushed it back a bit. But… if you could tell Gaius about this, ask him to do some research, then I'd really appreciate it."</p>
<p>"I will, obviously," the king sighed. "<em>Why</em> did you take on that land-bond thing again?"</p>
<p>"It seemed like a good idea at the time."</p>
<p>Arthur muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Gods save us all."</p>
<p>"Is there anything else we can do for you, Merlin?" Gwen asked, once again bringing the conversation back to where it was supposed to be.</p>
<p>"I don't really think so. Unless Nemeth has a secret hoard of books on curse-breaking, that is. What about you? Anything we can do other than ask Mother about magical midwives?"</p>
<p>"If you could bring them to the castle as soon as possible, that would be wonderful. If you're feeling up to it, of course."</p>
<p>Merlin opened his mouth, caught sight of Morgana's baleful expression, and chose to just nod instead.</p>
<p>"…Right. So, like I was saying, the Nemethi royal family is reacting very favorably to the idea of bringing magic back. King Rodor has agreed to rewrite their treaty with Camelot to remove that part of the alliance, and I'm almost entirely certain that he's going to legalize magic, too. He's already following your lead, Arthur, in changing the penalty from death to a fine."</p>
<p>Merlin and Morgana gaped, stunned by the extent of Gwen's success. She didn't notice because Arthur was taking her hand and raising it to his smiling lips. "Well done, Guinevere."</p>
<p>His future wife flushed. "Thank you. But, remember, we decided I'd start at Nemeth because they'd be the easiest to persuade. It's not like I was in Amata."</p>
<p>"Still amazing," Merlin declared.</p>
<p>"Incredible," Morgana seconded (well, thirded).</p>
<p>Gwen's blush darkened. "Arthur, what were you saying about Queen Annis?"</p>
<p>He allowed the subject change, describing his long evening of negotiations and his idea about bandits, which even Merlin and Morgana had to admit was a stroke of brilliance. There was nothing like a common enemy to bring people together.</p>
<p>The king went on to expound on the general state of Camelot. The citadel was quiet, riot-wise, and he'd heard nothing unusual from the countryside. His biggest worry (outside of the omnipresent 'How can I restore magic without sparking a full-fledged civil war?' So his second-biggest worry, really) was that Sarrum would choose winter to invade rather than wait for summer's pleasanter weather and easier traveling conditions like a normal person. Winter wars were ugly things, and Arthur didn't want to participate in one ever, much less in the first year of his reign.</p>
<p>"We could do something about that." Morgana's voice was calm, but everyone there knew her well enough to detect the tension in her neck.</p>
<p>"What does that mean, exactly?" Arthur finally asked.</p>
<p>"I mean that we all know that Sarrum will never agree to let magic return. He's not a potential ally. We don't have to treat him nicely."</p>
<p>Arthur folded his arms. "I sincerely hope that you're not suggesting an assassination. I thought you wanted to showcase your peaceful intentions by <em>not assassinating anybody</em>?"</p>
<p>"There's a lot of wiggle room between killing someone and letting them do whatever they want without opposition. The mandrake trick, for example."</p>
<p>"No," Arthur cut in sharply. "That won't work. You remember that Rience fellow?"</p>
<p>"Of course. I hope he's facing justice for what he did."</p>
<p>But Arthur shook his head. "No. He slipped out of the castle when Father was… you know… and we can't find him anywhere. Elyan has a theory that Sarrum offered him sanctuary. If Rience is in Amata, he'd recognize mandrake madness. Besides, doesn't that have to be renewed every day?"</p>
<p>"It does," Morgana acquiesced, "and I was mostly just using that as an example. I don't want to know what Sarrum would do if he went mad like that."</p>
<p>"But wouldn't his son take over, then?" Gwen asked.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure if Claudin would have the nerve," Arthur sighed. "Last time I saw him, he was a skittish, jumpy little thing. But then, that was years ago. Maybe he's changed." From his tone, he didn't think that likely.</p>
<p>"With a father like Sarrum, who would blame him?" Morgana growled. Then she frowned, pulled up short. "He's Sarrum's only son now, right? He's got three daughters and one surviving son. Orgeluse isn't married yet, and I don't think that the two older daughters have any sons yet."</p>
<p>"Are you suggesting that you kidnap Sarrum's only heir?" Arthur demanded, partly incredulous and partly intrigued.</p>
<p>"We could <em>rescue</em> him," Morgana corrected. "You know the rumors about Prince Dorin as well as I do."</p>
<p>"I don't," Merlin interrupted.</p>
<p>"Officially, Prince Dorin died after falling down the stairs, but it's been suggested that Sarrum lost his temper with him one too many times."</p>
<p>"So he… pushed him?"</p>
<p>"Not necessarily. The rumors say that their disagreements sometimes got physical and, well, it could have been an accident. One blow in the wrong place can kill a full-grown man, and Dorin was… fifteen, I think, or sixteen. Or maybe it was on purpose, or maybe he actually did fall down the stairs." But everything about her radiated doubt. "My point stands, though. If Sarrum is half as bad to his children as they say he is, Claudin would leap at a chance to escape."</p>
<p>It was Gwen who asked the next question, one that was as obvious as it was awkward. "What about Orgeluse? If you did this, would you rescue her, too?" She looked sideways at Arthur. "How did Sarrum treat her while they were in Camelot?"</p>
<p>"I tried very hard to avoid her," Arthur admitted. "She was bad-tempered and snotty, her father was a rage-driven lunatic. I didn't see him try anything, but that doesn't mean much."</p>
<p>"What would you do once you got ahold of Claudin?" Merlin asked, ending an uncomfortable silence. "Are you thinking a full-scale rebellion or were you just going to hold him over Sarrum's head so he can't do anything?"</p>
<p>"I haven't figured that out yet," she admitted. "I don't even know if it's a good idea to take him. Or them."</p>
<p>"Any rebellion against Sarrum would invite ugly retaliation," Arthur pointed out, "and remember, we've already agreed to not commit any coups."</p>
<p>"Weren't you planning to overthrow Uther?" Merlin demanded incredulously.</p>
<p>His king flinched. "That was different. Father was—he was ill, he was mad, he was obviously not fit to…." He trailed off. "Ah. I think I see your point." He groaned suddenly, hiding his face in his hands. "Merlin, this is all <em>your bloody fault</em>."</p>
<p>"What's my fault?"</p>
<p>"The—the—" Arthur waved his hand in a broadly sweeping gesture. "All the <em>conspiring</em> and <em>illegal activity</em> and all that nonsense! My life was so much simpler before you showed up."</p>
<p>"Simpler isn't always better," the warlock huffed.</p>
<p>Gwen, by far the most sensible person in this dream-world, put her (metaphorical) foot down. "So rescuing Sarrum's children is one idea. Do you have any others?"</p>
<p>"Maybe we could ask Kilgharrah to lead his men on a wild goose chase," Merlin suggested, grinning widely at the thought.</p>
<p>"Absolutely not," Morgana decreed. "He's helping you with your curse, Merlin."</p>
<p>"But after I'm better, it would be so hilarious if Sarrum couldn't do anything because his soldiers were all out chasing a dragon." Something tickled at the back of his mind. He frowned, trying to follow the thought, but it squirmed away like the curse on Listeneise.</p>
<p>Listeneise. Dragons.</p>
<p>The others were talking, but Merlin paid them no mind. He had two threads of thought now, two important strands of something, and he needed to figure out what it was.</p>
<p>Listeneise. Dragons.</p>
<p>"Eggs!" Merlin shouted, punching the air in triumph.</p>
<p>His friends gaped at him, justifiably alarmed by the warlock's outburst.</p>
<p>"I don't think that throwing eggs at Sarrum would help with anything," Arthur told him.</p>
<p>"No, no, not those eggs. <em>Dragon</em> eggs. I think that there might be dragon eggs in Listeneise." Merlin was beaming. "The only other dragon egg we know about is hidden in some impenetrable tomb, but I think—I'm almost positive—that I saw more of them while bonding with Listeneise. I just didn't understand what I'd seen until now." He nearly vibrated with excitement. Kilgharrah and Balinor would be thrilled.</p>
<p>"Are you sure they're not just wyvern eggs?" Arthur was skeptical.</p>
<p>"Well, no," Merlin confessed, deflating. "I suppose that they could be, and even if they are dragon eggs, we have enough on our plate already. They'll keep until we have the time and resources to hatch them. I just—I just needed to realize, that's all."</p>
<p>"Well, as long as you don't smuggle all the hatchlings to Amata," Arthur muttered.</p>
<p>"I would never," Merlin vowed.</p>
<p>"One more reason to fix you and Listeneise as soon as possible," Morgana noted.</p>
<p>"Yes, I suppose, but like I said, we shouldn't hatch them right away. We have enough food problems as is."</p>
<p>"Still," Gwen said, "that's wonderful news, Merlin. I hope they're all healthy."</p>
<p>"I hope so too." Merlin forced himself to shelve the revelation. He'd tell Kilgharrah and his father when he visited the refugee settlement tomorrow. Now, though, he was conspiring the downfall of an evil monarch. He had to focus. "I drifted off for a minute there. Did you have any other ideas about Sarrum?"</p>
<p>Morgana's lips curled. "A few."</p>
<p>"Excellent."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Great Keep of Amata was just as majestic and intimidating as His Majesty's servants had described it. Larger than the fortress at Camelot, it was made of huge, severe slabs of gray stone arranged in hard right angles. A couple windows dotted the upper stories, but most of the gaps in the outer walls were murder holes, currently plugged with wood. A pennant bearing Amata's sigil hung limply from the highest tower. Soon, more banners would be raised to indicate that the king had returned home.</p>
<p>"Show him his new chambers," that king grunted, gesturing towards Rience. The sallow servant bowed low, skittered over to the pharmacist.</p>
<p>Rience followed him through the halls. With no natural light peeking through cracks in the stonework, the castle depended on torches even though it was currently midday and half-sunny. They protruded from sconces placed at even intervals, the naked flame unencumbered by glass safety coverings; behind them, the walls were stained with soot. A careless passerby who got too close to the wall could easily bump one of the sconces, but thankfully, the torches were secured well enough to not fall.</p>
<p>Few tapestries adorned that grim expanse. The first one Rience passed depicted three women burning at the stake. The second was a hunting scene, knights and nobles chasing druids through the ruin of their camp.</p>
<p>The door to the physician's quarters creaked with disuse when the servant pushed it open. No torches were lit inside, but torches from the hall illuminated a wedge of dusty emptiness. The two men's shadows stretched out across the floor like a pair of accusing fingers, or perhaps like part of a hand outstretched for mercy.</p>
<p>The servant held the door open as Rience inspected his new domain. Cobwebbed shelves covered in empty glass bottles, barren cots, a few scratched old tables and chairs.</p>
<p>Rience wrinkled his nose. The air was musty, cold, and inhaling too deeply might summon a cloud of dust. "This will all need to be cleaned," he declared.</p>
<p>"Of course." The servant's head bobbed up and down. After a pause, he added, "My… lord?"</p>
<p>"I'm no lord. You and your ilk will refer to me as Master Rience. I am our king's new Court Physician. Now go find every available maid and get to work."</p>
<p>The servant's head was bobbing again. He dipped into a low, quick bow. "Of course, Master Rience." Then he was scurrying away at a pace that wasn't quite a run.</p>
<p>It was good to know that the Sarrum's servants were well-trained. <em>These</em> peasants were highly unlikely to be sorcerers in disguise… but that was what the world had thought of Merlin, too, and look how that had turned out. Uther's own son turned against him, destroying that great king's greatest achievement and ruining the kingdom around him. It almost didn't matter if Arthur Pendragon was enchanted or not. His actions would doom Camelot either way.</p>
<p>Except it <em>did</em> matter, because Arthur was Uther's pride and joy and son. If he had truly turned away from the older king's teachings of his own volition, that was one thing. Rience would happily poison the traitor himself. If, however, he'd been taken hostage within his own mind, reduced to a sorcerer's puppet….</p>
<p>Rience found himself wishing that Maddox had survived the assault on the Isle of the 'Blessed.' The two of them could perhaps have convinced King Sarrum to spare Arthur if he was a victim. After all, Uther himself had been driven to madness by a sorcerous curse. Without Maddox, though, Rience very much doubted that he'd be able to stay His Majesty's hand.</p>
<p>So he told himself once again that Arthur was a willing collaborator, happy to spit upon his great father's grave, and ignored the possibility.</p>
<p>The war against sorcery was too important to let mercy get in the way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Taken directly from Wikipedia: "Prince Claudin (also Claudine, Claudyne, Claudino) is the son of the Frankish King Claudas of the Wasteland (de la Deserte). He appears in the Lancelot-Grail, the Prose Tristan, the Post-Vulgate Cycle, and Le Morte d'Arthur. His father is a major villain during King Arthur's early reign as an enemy to Arthur's allies Ban and Bors, and so the valiant and noble Claudin fights against Arthur at first."</p>
<p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which Merlin Does That Thing he Does When he's Trying to Explain Things and it Works About as Well as it Usually Does"</p>
<p>Still fighting the writer's block, but I'm not giving up on this story. What I really ought to do is reread it soon, remind myself of the details, work up enthusiasm. I've found that other people demanding accountability from me helps me meet goals, so if I don't reread the first two books and post commentaries on my tumblr by my next update, feel free to scorn me with rotten tomatoes and scathing derision.</p>
<p>Next chapter: May 14. The knights cause an international incident, Morgana and Morgause spy on a prince, and Gwen finishes up in Nemeth.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Knights' Code</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fight time!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter XVI: The Knights' Code</p>
<p>"Dragon eggs?" Balinor breathed, barely daring to hope.</p>
<p>"I think so, yes." Merlin grimaced. "My memories of the land-bonding are… disjointed… but I'm nearly positive that I saw dragon eggs."</p>
<p>"It is possible," said Kilgharrah, more softly than Merlin had ever heard him speak. The dragon held himself very still, as though moving the wrong way would shatter him. "If true, this is <em>wonderful</em> news."</p>
<p>"More than wonderful," Balinor choked. "Gods, Merlin, I hope you're right." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "How old are they?"</p>
<p>"Sorry?"</p>
<p>"How old are they?" the Dragonlord repeated. "Hatchlings can survive a thousand years in the egg."</p>
<p>"They would not be that old, assuming that they were fresh-laid when Listeneise was abandoned," Kilgharrah speculated.</p>
<p>"Wasn't that six hundred years ago, though?" Merlin asked.</p>
<p>"Length is a matter of perspective, young warlock."</p>
<p>Said young warlock huffed but let it go. "So when do we—oh." Realization struck mid-sentence. His shoulders hunched.</p>
<p>They didn't have enough resources to raise a generation of dragon babies. They were already worried about lasting the winter. The dragon eggs would have to wait.</p>
<p>From their faces, Balinor and Kilgharrah knew this too. "We can at least start gathering them up, once things have calmed a little," the Dragonlord assured his kin. "Get them in one place for when we can safely hatch them." He frowned. "And speaking of long-lost dragon eggs, remind me to ask Gaius about the tomb of…." His frown deepened, eyebrows scrunching together. "I can't remember the fellow's name, but I heard a rumor, once, that some dead mage decided to be buried with a dragon egg. I don't know if it's true or not, but I ought to check it out."</p>
<p>"Is there some reason you did not mention this before?" Kilgharrah reprimanded sharply.</p>
<p>"I only just remembered it exists," Balinor protested. "And like I said, it's just a rumor. I heard it in a seedy tavern from a drunkard. It might be true, it might be nonsense."</p>
<p>Kilgharrah, mollified, nodded his acceptance of this explanation. Balinor rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>"Do you think we could hatch them next summer?" Merlin inquired.</p>
<p>Dragon and Dragonlord exchanged glances. "I believe so, yes," Kilgharrah finally allowed. His stoicism broke, a smile covering his face. "If all goes well, then soon, my people will fly again."</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was not Lancelot's place to criticize the Caerleoni for their rude behavior. It was <em>not</em> Lancelot's place to criticize the Caerleoni for their rude behavior. <em>It was not</em>—</p>
<p>One of the Caerleoni knights who'd obviously been mocking them from across the room spat out his drink all over his equally insult-loving comrade.</p>
<p>Gwaine cackled.</p>
<p>Lancelot fixed him with a flat stare. "What did you put in his drink and how did you do it?"</p>
<p>"What makes you think I have anything to do with it?"</p>
<p>"I <em>know</em> you," Lancelot reminded him.</p>
<p>"I bet it's some of his hangover potion," Elyan speculated. "That stuff's vile."</p>
<p>"He must have bribed someone," Leon agreed. "He's been here too long, so he can't have placed it himself."</p>
<p>Gwaine's smile became distinctly smug.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, that was the exact moment that the first Caerleoni knight happened to glance over at them. He took in Gwaine's expression and went completely red.</p>
<p>"Now you've done it," Lancelot hissed as the burly fellow stomped towards them.</p>
<p>"You think you're funny, do you?" the man sneered.</p>
<p>"No, I think you're funny, spitting all over your friend like that."</p>
<p>Lancelot wondered if he could get away with punching him.</p>
<p>The red deepened. "You'll pay for that, peasant."</p>
<p>Ah. Apparently he hadn't heard about Gwaine's relations in the Orkneys.</p>
<p>The roguish knight had never been one to hide behind his bloodlines, and he wasn't about to start now. "I don't know why your delicate highborn palate couldn't handle breakfast, and the spitting is objectively funny. You saw your buddy's face, didn't you?"</p>
<p>The attempted placation (and it might genuinely be an attempt at placation. Gwaine was good at escalating things but not so good with calming people down) failed miserably. That red face twisted into a sneer. "I'd throw my gauntlet at you if you were a real knight, but you belong in the stocks, not the training—"</p>
<p>A glove hit the ground at his feet. He pulled up short.</p>
<p>Lancelot groaned. Leon was supposed to be smarter than this.</p>
<p>"No, you uppity serf, you don't get to—"</p>
<p>"I am the youngest son of Lord Leodegrance Rihthláfordhyldu. You have insulted my fellow knights and the king who chose to knight them. The five of us will fight you and four of your friends—assuming that someone so disagreeable has any."</p>
<p>This day kept getting better and better, and they weren't even finished with breakfast yet.</p>
<p>An ugly smile broke out across Red Face's mien. He picked up the glove, squashed it in his fist. "I look forward to humiliating you. Today, high noon, the training grounds."</p>
<p>"With pleasure." Leon turned back to his breakfast, dismissal etched in every line of his body. Lancelot wanted to shake him.</p>
<p>Red Face swaggered away, back to his obnoxious little friends. Lancelot rounded on Leon. "What was that about?"</p>
<p>The older knight's jaw was tense. "Perhaps I'm tired of people treating you like that. Once we trounce those Caerleoni, hopefully more of our own people will start treating you with the respect you deserve."</p>
<p>"I knew I liked you," Gwaine chortled. "Nice work, Leon." He clapped him on the back.</p>
<p>"This doesn't exonerate you," Leon reminded him.</p>
<p>"Damn."</p>
<p>"Queen Annis would have brought along her best, though," Elyan noted, a smile beginning to play on his lips. "And everyone else in Camelot knows it."</p>
<p>"Exactly," Leon confirmed. The two of them beamed at each other.</p>
<p>"We'll have to warm up before noon," Percival noted.</p>
<p>"Not you too," Lancelot grumbled, but he had to admit (if only to himself) that his friend had a point. They were bound by the Knight's Code to fight Red Face and his countrymen, and honor compelled them all to represent Camelot to the best of their abilities. And if Leon's impulsive plan worked—if this actually did stop a few noble-born knights from looking down their noses at the former commoners—then… then Lancelot would appreciate it, even if he didn't think that picking fights during what was essentially a peace negotiation was a good idea. He was certain that there must be all sorts of political implications beyond his ken being dredged up by the whole unpleasant incident.</p>
<p>"We'll show them what we're made of," Gwaine gloated.</p>
<p>"Thank you." Elyan was still looking at Leon, his expression soft.</p>
<p>The older knight's smile was equally gentle. "You're welcome, Sir Elyan."</p>
<p>Elyan grinned, his teeth a line of white. "I'll never be tired of people calling me that," he said.</p>
<p>Lancelot returned to his breakfast in Percival-like silence, but he kept listening intently to the others' conversation as it moved on to strategy.</p>
<p>The morning alternated between a slow drag and a lightning sprint. They spoke with concerned commoners, they had a brief meeting with Captain Brun (whose audit of the guard wasn't coming along nearly as quickly as they wanted it to, partly because a few of his men had fled for who-knows-where when Arthur became king rather than face justice. They were no real loss, but it did leave the guard understaffed), they mostly ignored mutters from assorted nobles jealous of Arthur's <em>common-born</em> favorites (Leon was mostly exempt from this grousing. Gwaine, whose lineage had become fairly common knowledge, was resented more from being a foreigner than anything else).</p>
<p>They went to the training field about an hour before the duel's start. Lancelot stretched, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck. Percival handed him a practice sword, and they began to work through their warmups.</p>
<p>The five knights broke into pairs, with Leon taking Marrok for the first few minutes. They sparred, then switched. Lancelot handed Elyan off to Percival and went over to the werewolf. "Have the Caerleoni brought any squires?" the knight wondered.</p>
<p>Marrok was good for his age, but he wasn't quite skilled enough to fight one of them. He and Lancelot were slowly going through forms, focusing on control and precision.</p>
<p>"I think there's three, but I haven't met any yet."</p>
<p>They continued their stylized swordplay and pleasant conversation a few minutes more, then Percival came over and Lancelot went to Leon. The two knights didn't speak. They started slow, gradually increasing their tempo until they were whirling across the field, their arms blurring, their practice swords smacking together like the drumbeats of a frantic musician.</p>
<p>The duel ended with Lancelot's faux blade at Leon's throat and smiles on both faces. Percival applauded as Marrok scurried over with waterskins. "It's time to go," the werewolf announced.</p>
<p>"Gwaine, Elyan!" called Leon.</p>
<p>"I almost had him," the rogue knight whined, but he obeyed.</p>
<p>Someone had erected two tents near the tournament grounds. The knights and Marrok ducked into the one with the gold-and-scarlet Pendragon flag flapping above it.</p>
<p>Their armor was there already, presumably brought over by Marrok before their warmups. Only Leon had a full suit of armor all his own. Elyan had a fine shirt of mail, a gift from his proud father, but the other three had only a couple pieces each and had to borrow most of their gear from the guards.</p>
<p>Lancelot didn't mind. The armor fit well enough, and they had other priorities. Still, it would be lovely to have his own armor once things settled down more.</p>
<p>Marrok darted among them, helping where he could. Gwaine kept up a steady stream of chatter, but the others replied in clipped monosyllables.</p>
<p>With the duel so close, a ball of squirming snakes had taken up residence in Lancelot's belly. He knew that he and his friends were skilled, objectively speaking, but their opponents were all highborn. They'd started formal training under their own masters-at-arms as tiny children, had trained day in and day out while Lancelot was picking beets. They'd had years more experience, not to mention the finest equipment.</p>
<p>The snakes writhed and twisted in his gut. Lancelot tried not to think about the distinct possibility that he'd humiliate himself, his friends, his king, and his country in a few minutes. The others would comport themselves admirably, but Lancelot felt like an imposter there in his borrowed armor and long red cloak.</p>
<p>He swallowed, gladly took the waterskin that Marrok offered him.</p>
<p>"Remember," Leon instructed, "they'll underestimate you. If we strike quickly, before they realize you're actually threats, we can take down one or two of them before they have time to react."</p>
<p>"I vote we head for the tosser who started this," Gwaine said.</p>
<p>"Good idea," Elyan agreed. "Any objections?"</p>
<p>There weren't.</p>
<p>"Excellent. Who else?"</p>
<p>"The big fellow with the squashed nose," Lancelot suggested. "He's got the longest range." He'd also had a particularly nasty glint in his eye. If anybody was going to 'accidentally' break the rules and wound someone gravely, it would be him.</p>
<p>No one raised any objections. They finished their final adjustments in silence.</p>
<p>The trumpet sounded, a bright, cheery call to battle. Lancelot fought to keep his face neutral. No need to worry his friends.</p>
<p>They walked onto the field amidst a roar of cheers. Lancelot hadn't expected the stands to be packed, but there must have been a thousand people crammed into them: craftsmen and merchants, parents with children on their laps, nobles in their boxes. He recognized Leon's parents, though most of the others were only vaguely familiar. Laudine noticed him staring and waved.</p>
<p>Arthur stood in the royal box, hands clasped behind his back. Annis, Caerleon, and Cenred were there as well, though they were seated. Arthur was the reigning king of Camelot, where the duel was taking place, so it fell to him to announce them.</p>
<p>He started addressing the crowds, which fell almost silent. Lancelot didn't really listen. He was taking in his opponents where they stood side by side in front of the knights of Camelot. Leon and Red Face (Arthur had said his name, but Lancelot had missed it), as the challenger and challenged, stood in the center. Lancelot and Percival flanked the older knight's right, while Gwaine and Elyan stood tall to his left.</p>
<p>Red Face and his coterie were plainly unconcerned. The chinless fellow in front of Percival went so far as to elbow the ugly-bearded knight to his right, grinning as though this was all a big joke.</p>
<p>The serpents in Lancelot's stomach stilled, then vanished. A cold, quiet anger took its place. His friends had fought and bled and nearly died to earn their knighthoods. Their reaction wasn't a joke, it was an insult.</p>
<p>For the first time, he found himself almost grateful that Leon had thrown down his glove. He wouldn't mention it, though. Their king was working on a <em>peace treaty</em>.</p>
<p>Distractions fell away. The world went into crystalline focus. Lancelot was hyperaware of the bodies around him, of his own smallest motion. He breathed in, breathed out, slow and deep and steady. His hand drifted to his sword-hilt.</p>
<p>"You may begin!"</p>
<p>Lancelot, Leon, and Gwaine converged on Red Face. Percival and Elyan covered their flanks, going for the two knights by Red Face's side rather than the ones across from them. Chinless and Squashed Nose, who had taken the leftmost and rightmost positions, respectively, were thrown off-balance, their first attacks slicing through thin air.</p>
<p>Red Face hadn't expected such a quick, coordinated assault by three knights of Camelot. They took him out with almost embarrassing ease, cutting him three times in about as many seconds.</p>
<p>As Red Face backed away, blushing and defeated, Lancelot sprung to his right, where Percival was dueling Ugly Beard and dodging Chinless's blows. The huge knight pivoted, turning the full force of his attention onto Chinless and leaving Lancelot to finish off his former opponent.</p>
<p>(At Lancelot's other side, Gwaine and Elyan ganged up on Squashed Nose with his long reach while Leon and the fifth Caerleoni knight exchanged blows. Lancelot paid them only a little mind, just in case one of them came charging for him. He doubted they would, though. His friends were going to win.)</p>
<p>Ugly Beard was off balance, clumsy with confusion. His defenses were weak, particularly on his left. Lancelot took full advantage, swinging for Ugly Beard's weak spots and driving him slowly, steadily backwards.</p>
<p>Without warning, Lancelot changed direction. He got inside Ugly Beard's right, opening two bright red lines across his face before dancing backwards. His sword twisted in a tight, complicated maneuver, and suddenly Ugly Beard's blade was dropping to the ground. As the Caerleoni knight tried to grab it, Lancelot struck again, drawing blood for the third time.</p>
<p>Lancelot hadn't just won. He'd won quickly, efficiently, and without taking a single blow.</p>
<p>He'd proven himself. More than that, he'd proven that Arthur wasn't wrong to knight commoners.</p>
<p>But there was no time to reflect on the implications of his victory, nor was there a spare moment to revel in his triumph. Lancelot took stock of the situation, looking over at Percival just in time to see him strike the winning blow.</p>
<p>The crowd went berserk. Cries of "CAMELOT!" and the knights' names resounded from every side.</p>
<p>Red Face had barely gotten off the field, but now he had to return. He was the one who had been challenged; he was the one who had to formally acknowledge their defeat. As his bleeding men clustered behind him, he inclined his head towards Leon. A vein pulsed in his neck, and he forced the words out through gritted teeth. "I apologize, Sir Leon, for insulting your companions. Truly, they are…." His face surpassed red, going straight to purple. "…worthy knights."</p>
<p>The crowd erupted again, whooping and hollering and rejoicing. It wasn't that much of a surprise from the peasants, who tended to idolize the low-born knights, and of course Arthur was clapping and grinning. What really shocked Lancelot was how many nobles of Camelot—men and women who had looked down their noses at him and the others—were just as excited. Perhaps they were mostly just cheering for Leon and maybe Gwaine, or perhaps they were just happy that any knights of Camelot could defeat the Caerleoni like that.</p>
<p>Lancelot had heard, somewhere, that nothing united people half so soundly as a common enemy. Perhaps it was as simple as that.</p>
<p>And perhaps, he admitted (though only to himself), Leon had had the right idea after all.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morgana and Morgause gazed into the scrying pool.</p>
<p>"I think that's him," the priestess finally said, pointing to a figure at the edge of the water. "See the resemblance?"</p>
<p>"I do. He's dressed finely enough, too."</p>
<p>"He certainly looks cowed," Morgause observed. She waved her hand over the water. The focus shifted, flowing from King Sarrum of Amata to the young man who was probably his son. Claudin—assuming he really was Claudin—was a big man, but he held himself like he wanted to be smaller. His dark eyes were focused on Sarrum, and his jaw was tense. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.</p>
<p>Then again, so did most of the servants and a fair few of the nobles. <em>How</em> had Sarrum avoided a coup this long?</p>
<p>"The question is, is he too cowed to run?" It was a real concern. Morgana had heard of people who'd been given the opportunity to escape some awful situation but chosen to remain. And—her blood ran cold as the thought occurred to her—what if Claudin had an external reason to stay? Uther had threatened Gwen and the other servants to force Morgana's obedience. Did Claudin have a Gwen, a Merlin? Would he care enough if his father started killing random servants to force his return?</p>
<p>Morgana voiced the concern to her sister, who bit her lip in worry. "I don't know. His sister, perhaps? We haven't seen them together. They might be close."</p>
<p>"I don't know either," Morgana sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to keep spying." They didn't need her back in the camp, not with all the wards they'd set up. She didn't have to hurry.</p>
<p>They watched a bit longer. Sarrum was holding court, listening to two anxious nobles who had a disagreement about hunting laws. Apparently one had ended up on the other's land during a particularly exciting chase. Morgana was about to suggest going back to the recovering prisoners when she noticed another familiar form. "Wait. Look there."</p>
<p>Morgause moved the image again.</p>
<p>Morgana hissed, fists clenching automatically. "I was right. That's Rience."</p>
<p>Morgause grimaced. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I do wish he was facing the justice of Camelot right now."</p>
<p>"So do I," Morgana growled.</p>
<p>"His presence rules out a few possibilities for taking Claudin," the sorceress continued. "Rience would recognize you, so any plan that requires you staying around long enough to gain Claudin's trust is unfeasible."</p>
<p>"Someone else could go," the witch mused, "but I think it should be a quick mission, in and then out. I wouldn't want anyone near Sarrum for very long. Besides, there's no guarantee that whoever went would even be able to make contact."</p>
<p>"So we'll need a distraction," Morgause decided, a familiar gleam in her eyes.</p>
<p>"Or stealth," Morgana interjected quickly, "someone popping in and out in the middle of the night and taking him before he wakes."</p>
<p>"Or stealth," her sister agreed, a little disappointed.</p>
<p>Morgana patted her on the shoulder, trying not to smile. "You'll get to use one of your plans someday."</p>
<p>The sorceress huffed, but her disappointment had disappeared. "I had better," she muttered. "But you're right. A stealthy kidnapping has less chance of going wrong."</p>
<p>They went back to spying. The more they knew, the better.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Alice, the new midwife/healer, arrived in Nemeth by whirlwind shortly after lunch and immediately went searching for Gwen. She found Tristan and Isolde instead as they were sparring in the courtyard, much to the horror of certain individuals and the envy of half the ladies present. The smugglers happily directed her to their lady, then went back to their flirtatious fighting.</p>
<p>Gwen was writing an official report when a knock sounded on her door. "Come in," she called.</p>
<p>Alice stepped inside, uncertain, then recognized Sefa and relaxed. The druid girl waved. "Hello, Alice."</p>
<p>"Hello, Sefa. I'd forgotten that you were going to be here."</p>
<p>"How do you two know each other?" Gwen inquired.</p>
<p>"I lived with Ruadan's tribe for a year or two," the older woman explained. She shifted her weight. "Lady Hunith mentioned that Princess Angharad needed a midwife?"</p>
<p>"She does." Gwen put down her quill. "Would you like to meet her now?"</p>
<p>"The sooner the better."</p>
<p>So Gwen led the way to Rhaddie's chambers, left them alone, and went to inform Mithian that help had arrived.</p>
<p>"Have you personally met her, seen her work?" the princess asked.</p>
<p>"I haven't," Gwen admitted. "But Hunith wouldn't have picked her if she wasn't skilled."</p>
<p>"My ladies?" Sefa's voice was high with anxiety. "I've—I've seen her work." The druid was pale, sweaty, brave. "Princess Angharad is in good hands."</p>
<p>Mithian beamed. "Wonderful. We ought to tell my family."</p>
<p>Gwen made a note of the reaction to put into her report. She'd have to send it off soon.</p>
<p>Her work in Nemeth was almost done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate chapter title: "In Which It's Not Lancelot's Place to Criticize the Caerleoni for Their Rude Behavior (But it Might be Leon's)"</p>
<p>Next chapter: June 4. Team Merlin departs from Amata. Gwen departs from Nemeth. Arthur does not depart from Camelot.</p>
<p>Very, very tired today, but I wanted to let you know that I'm making progress against my writer's block. I've reread the first two books of this series and have a bunch of commentary queued on my Tumblr (no need for shame tomatoes!). I managed to write a little today, and I think I know how to get to the end of this book, which will probably be around 30 chapters (so my usual length). Slow progress, but it's working.</p>
<p>Leon's surname basically just means 'the fealty/loyalty due to one's lord.'</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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